THE KING OF FIGHTERS 2001: The Fall Of NESTS
by Burnout
Summary: They're BACK! Following their exploits in KOF 2000, the DHS Team has returned. And this time...It's personal.
1. A New Beginning

**THE KING OF FIGHTERS 2001: THE FALL OF NESTS**

**Chapter 1**

It was a typically bright day in Tokyo Stadium, new home of the King Of Fighters Tournament. A long line of people, as far as the eye could see, stretched from one end of the place to another, all waiting for a spot.

A pissed-off Chizuru Kagura sat at a small, woefully undermanned table, dealing with the third phone call, as in many minutes. The crowd was getting restless, as people began to shove one another to see what the fuss was about.

Let's take a closer look.

**************

Imagine, if you will, a world covered in endless water. There is no land, not anywhere. The blue liquid covers the entire Earth, without anything to stop it. 

Now, imagine the rush of the waves.

No, louder. 

No. Come on, you're not trying. Even LOUDER. We're talking God-knows-how-many millions of square miles worth of rushing, babbling liquid. They crash against each other, they form ripples, waves, caps. And they often do so at *earsplitting* volumes, putting even punk bands to shame. 

There you go. That's more like it. 

Got that image and volume in your head? Good.             Now imagine that the voice of a single woman is enough to make all of this churning water sound like a pin-drop in comparison.

*************

"NO...NO…NO…AND…NO!!!!!!!! WHICH PART…OF…'NO' DO YOU! NOT! UNDERSTAND! NO!"

Chizuru Kagura slammed the phone down with all her might, snapping it neatly in two.

"Damn the USA Team…Stupid steroid addicts…"

As was the norm, she reached for the aspirin bottle once more…only to find it empty. As always. With a curse, Chizuru flung the bottle away from her in a random direction, not even bothering to see where it hit.

If anything, this year was worse than the last. First came the new teams, as well as the crappy photographs that had been sent in. Who in hell had taken that? He deserved to be fired. Or burned, with those photographs as fuel for the flames.

"Uh…Excuse me…"

"WHAT?"

Chizuru's head snapped up, eyes blazing with rage. A young man stood in front of her, warily stepping back. 

"Whoah! I know you're stressed out, but…Remember us?"

"Remember you? I've never seen you in my life!"

But come to think of it…He _did_ seem familiar. As did the other two some distance behind him.

_Add several pounds, remove several inches and that white coat, and he'll be the splitting image of 'Burnout'. And the black-and-gold outfit and the mirrored visor…Haven't I seen them somewhere before?_

"Hey…wait. You're Chan, right? With the rest of the DHS Team?"

"Yeah! We're back again for one more shot at the trophy…And the money, of course. Never forget the money."

"But…How 'bout last year's prize?"

Chan looked more than slightly sheepish for a moment. He shifted uncomfortably, lowering his voice to a point where it was barely audible.

"Well…Before we left, Ryan decided to throw a party at King's Bar. See, there were some people there who made…comments about us. We didn't take it kindly, and answered with our fists. By the time King had broken up the fight, there were fifteen for the medics, one critical. As you can tell, with the bullets and everything, there was some property damage…Hell, let's not even mention the therapy…"

Ryan scowled at Chan. Like a suspect attempting to convince the judge of his innocence, he turned to Chizuru for her understanding.

"What happened was perfectly reasonable. See, it was like this…"

**************

With an inhuman roar, Chan threw yet another broken, twisted body onto the already huge pile, the fifth opponent he'd beaten to a bloody pulp. 

He turned to the few people in the room who were still standing. 

"Anyone _else_ think I'm gay??" 

"No! No! You're hetero, man!" stammered one of the few witnesses to the carnage.

"A zero on the scale! Yeah!" 

"As straight as, uh, the Pope!" 

"Glad to hear it," Ryan growled, dropping his opponent onto his knee, not even bothering to listen to the scream of pain that followed. With a twisted smile on his face, he turned to the rest of their opponents.

"Who's next?"

Carrying makeshift clubs and other weaponry, the thugs let off a pathetic warcry, and charged. With a grin, Chan flipped the Mage Cannon into his hand. The gun began to glow, sending small streamers of blue light crackling round the room.

They abruptly pulled up short. Those behind began to scramble for cover, as Chan opened fire.

**************

"…And that's what happened."

Chizuru shuddered slightly, just thinking of the inevitable amount of bloodshed 

"Okay…Well, let's get this over with, just for the record. Who are you guys again?"

"Hell, you already know us! Exactly why do we have to do this?"

"Because it's there."

"I'm not going through that again. Andro, you handle it."

The always impassive man stepped forward, mirrored visor pulled low over his eyes. As always.

"The talkative one is Chan. I'm Andro. The guy with the buck teeth is Ryan. Our new member, not here yet, is Jiazheng."

There was a long pause, as all concerned tried to digest this.

"Is that all?"

Chan let off a long-suffering sigh.

"Okay, I'll handle it this time, Andro. But you owe me."

With a sweeping gesture, Chan swung into a well-practiced recital.

"I'm Chan, Stand-wielder and student extraordinaire. I also fire a MEAN revolver. This year, I'm seventeen, and in AC Junior College. But for old time's sake, we're still the DHS Team."

Chan gestured to Ryan. The teenager nodded, a trademark grin spreading across his face. For some reason, it made him look evil.

"And he of the buck teeth and mild alcoholism is Ryan. He learns Jeet Kun Do, and can control both water and the weather. Careful, ladies. He's a real SENSTIVE, CARING GUY!"

"Hey! I heard that!"

"So what? You have the biggest fan club. Only dumb luck allowed us to escape at the airport! Or have you already forgotten that?"

Ryan suddenly shut up.

"Anyway, the grim, psychopathic killer here is Alistair Andrew Gillus. When he's in a good mood. We normally call him 'Andro'."

"It's 'Gill', Chan. Don't forget it."

Somehow, even at ease and visibly unarmed, Andro was like a viper ready to strike. Chan swallowed.

"Okay. My bad."

"Right. And now, the aforementioned new guy is…?"

"Jiazheng."

As one, the entire group turned, in a serious attempt to find the speaker. The voice had seemed to come from everywhere at once, but the speaker was nowhere to be seen.

**************

A friendly-looking, fresh-faced young man stepped in, seeming to appear from the midst of the crowd. He sketched a mock bow, raising his gauntlet/fingerless glove clad right hand above his head.

"At your service. I can introduce myself, Chan. No need to do it for me."

With a grateful nod, Chan stepped back, and gestured for Jiazheng to continue. Chizuru watched the proceedings with interest. This was better than anything else she had seen that day.

Jiazheng adjusted his red jacket, the one with the word "FUGITIVE" emblazoned over a neon kanji rendition of "Sword." He was wearing a shirt, with the words, "You Didn't See Me." In much smaller letters, underneath it.

"Well, I'm something of a swordsman. Andro met me at a bushido tournament, and I managed to fight him to a draw. Then, he introduced me to the others…And here I am."

The teenager slipped a well-made scabbard from his back. It was long and slim, but looked incredibly solid. The thing was obviously made foe a katana or single-edged sword of some kind. But something was missing…

"Where's the sword?"

"I don't need one."

Mentally, Chizuru wrote him off. Another nutter. And he'd seemed like such a nice young man too. With a shrug, she scribbled down the details onto her notepad.

"Okay, that about sums it up. Be at the stadium tomorrow, for your first match."

Chizuru paused, wondering whether to tell them. Eventually, her conscience won out, and she caved in.

"Be careful. Our sponsor, NESTS Cartel, wants you dead. Word has it that they have two teams on their payroll."

To her surprise, Ryan nodded.

"We know. Let them come."

"Oh dear."

**************

Much later that day, in a hotel specially reserved for the fighters, the DHS Team was busy with their...Planning. Yep, that's the word. Planning.

Okay, they lay sprawled out on the couches, staring blankly at the ceiling. No one wanted to actually say anything, waiting for everyone else to solve the problem. They stayed like this for some time, looking for all the world like a group of stoned junkies.

This went on for some time. They were getting nowhere, fast. Outside, the sun set, the sky darkened, yet no one said a word.

At length, Andro spoke.

"We're getting nowhere fast, guys."

Silence.

Snores resounded through the room. All concerned were fast asleep. Andro slowly got up, and shook his head at the sight. He poked Chan, who lay face-down on the sofa, drool trickling from the side of his mouth. No response. 

"Damn." 

**************

The Next Day… 

"Alright, let's get this over wit…"

"Uh…Weren't you the person we met last time?"

Warily, the man backed away from Ryan.

"No. I've never seen you in my life. I'm just the faceless, anonymous rude guy, so let's leave it as that, okay?"

"Hey…You're the guy from the last year! The one who dissed us!"

"Uh oh…"

"Chan, make him scream as he dies."

"No problem."

There was a low whine, as the Mage Cannon began to power up. Ryan grinned evil, and cracked his knuckles.

"Don't worry. We won't kill you. But you owe us." 

Then, the two waded in, and (DUE TO HORRIBLE, INDESCRIBABLE VIOLENCE, AND TO KEEP THIS FIC PG-13, THIS PART OF THE STORY HAS BEEN CENSORED.) Suffice it to say that a cartoon-style dust cloud quickly formed, as Ryan and Chan began to lay a righteous smackdown upon their victim.

Jiazheng, watching this, blinked.

"Am I missing something here?"

Andro laid a brotherly hand on Jiazheng's shoulder, perhaps using more than necessary force to hold him still.

"Oh, don't worry about that, alright? They have…issues."

**************

Much Later…

Chan, holding the tournament executive's paper, read through it as fast as possible.

"Right, when we head out there, we're going to fight…The…DHS…Team?! WHAT THE HELL?!!!"

"Wait…I thought WE were the DHS Team."

"Oh, there's a small footnote…'As Sponsored By NESTS Cartel.'"

Evil grins spread across the group's faces, quickly replacing the short-lived scowls. 

"Man…This is our chance to show them our true power."

"Mwahahahaha. This is even better than I thought! In one fell stroke, we get rid of a group of fakes…AND tell the Cartel we're a force to be reckoned with."

"Good. Everyone ready?"

A chorus of assent quickly sounded.

"Let's go get them. Remember…No mercy."

"NO MERCY!!!!"

And with that, they were committed. 

(Well now, the DHS Team's gonna fight another one! The next chapter should be really…Interesting. Believe me, it's going to be like no other chapter you've ever seen. As always, please read and review. Always feel free to drop me a line at burnout02urza@yahoo.com Suggestions are always welcome.)


	2. There will only be ONE!

**Chapter 2: There can only be ONE!**

          It was a bitterly bright day. 

            The sun beat down like a hammer, seemingly right through the flimsy barriers set up above Tokyo Stadium. The crowd, seated in row after row of benches directly beneath, didn't particularly seem to notice, or even care.

            They had been up the previous night, performing whatever indulgence required, to turn each and everyone of them into hyperactive, bloodthirsty monsters come dawn.

            The clamor was frightening in its intensity, like the roar of a great beast unleashed upon the world. Some teams were shattered by that roar, each member fighting, losing, dying alone. Others were unified, forged into an invincible force. 

The DHS Team drank in the cheers, drank in the roar. But there was no response 

on their part. It was as though nothing had happened.

Chan, Ryan and Jiazheng took their seats in the stands, perfectly located for easy assistance. Andro made his solitary way to the ring, waiting for his first foe to appear.

This was the most tense moment before the fight. Until the others took their seats, neither team would know who they were up against.

Very slowly, two figures trooped over to their side of the stands, as another, cloaked one made its way across the ring towards Andro.

Chan, watching this, frowned. Somehow, the person in the ring seemed familiar. It was something in the walk, or the stride. Maybe he'd seen that person in school or something…

Andro, for his own part, faced his opponent, as calm as always. He spoke, in a low voice that cut straight through the clamor. 

            "And you are?"

            There was a whirl of cloth, and the sounds of the cheap material tearing. The cloak was shredded, to reveal a familiar face.

            "CLAIRE?"

************

"Claire?"

            "Claire?"

            "Who's Claire? Ouch!"

            "Our classmate, dumbass. Who'd you think she was?"

            "I dunno…"

************

            For once, even Andro's legendary composure was shaken. He simply hadn't expected one of his old classmates to be here.

            "Claire, what in hell are you doing? This is a fight, for God's sake!"

            The girl tilted her head to one side, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. 

            "Why, I'm your opponent, of course! Some of us signed up for the tournament too, you know! See, Karmen and I decided to try our hand at it, after seeing you guys. If people like you won it, we should have no problems."

            Andro shook his head.

            "God, I can't believe this. Why are you on NESTS's payroll?"

            "Well, there was actually no way we would've been able to win. NESTS provided us with weaponry, and _two_ powerful fighters for help. And if we defeat you, we get a bonus…And we can keep the items. Aren't they nice?"

            Claire sounded almost…_happy_.

            Andro took a fighting stance. His blades sprouted from his hands.

            "Well, no more talking. Let's just fight."

            "We shall."

            They charged.

************

            Chan shook his head.

            "I can't believe this. Our classmates? Who would've even thought of it?"

            "Yeah, well. Maybe they were running out of ideas? You know, after their best creations having their asses kicked by us, they couldn't think of anything else?"

            Jiazheng took the chance to chip in.

            "Could it just be coincidence, guys? They might not be out to get you."

            The other two glared at him.

            "Just kidding."

************

            The fight was moving at an incredible pace, as the two fighters blurred back and forth across the arena, running flat-out. Needles and blades flew back and forth, as Claire and Andro tried to find some way to hit the other. It was a game of tag, playing chicken at insane speeds. Both leapt, spun, and dodged to best of their ability, neither quite managing to hit the other.

            Just a bit faster than Andro, Claire came straight down, dropping from above like a rock. Her hands clutched her needles, as she came in fast, too fast-

            -and Andro kicked out with all his strength, boosting her up and over his head. 

            He spun, blades thudding into the wall where Claire-

            -Had been.

            The crowd _oohed__, as a fast punch nailed Andro, sending him sprawling back. He dropped and slid forward in a sliding kick. Claire leapt straight over it, tagging Andro in the face with another kick as she did. The girl ducked impossibly low, dodging the return blade-fire that scythed above her head. _

            The fight didn't seem to be going well for Andro. No matter how fast he was, Claire was just a bit faster than him. He got to his feet, panting for breath.

            "How…How can you be…So fast?"

            With a cheerful smile, Claire pointed at her outfit: And in particular, the strange circuitry pattern lining the suit.

            "See this? It compensates for my opponent's ability. No matter how fast one is, I can always go just a bit faster, and strike just a bit harder. Currently, it's set to fifty percent. However, if I crank it all the way up…"

            She twisted a dial, somewhere on her wrist. An ominous hum of machinery began. 

            "Let's see if you can keep up with me now."

            And then Claire _moved_.

            A moment ago, she had been standing still. The next, she had nailed Andro's stomach, with a punch that lifted him into the air. The assassin flew back, like a shot from a cannon. Legs twisting, he skidded to a stop, landing clumsily on both feet.

            Andro coughed into his gloved hand, wiping a thin trickle of red liquid from his mouth. The response from the audience was incredible, as they slowly came to the conclusion that, Andro, victor of countless fights, was at the mercy of a novice. 

************

            The others watched the fight intently, retaining a white-knuckled grip on their armrests. They spoke in low, muttered tones, as if fearful of someone overhearing them. Jiazheng looked ready to leap in at any moment, Striker Action or not. 

            "Chan, I think I should intervene now."

            "No."

            Chan shook his head empathically, making his point as clear as possible.

            "Andro's the best fighter among us, not counting our powers. We probably couldn't do anything to help. Besides, look at that board over there. The Super Gauge isn't full yet. We can't do anything."

            "Oh."

            Ryan sighed.

            "You know, I'm never gonna get used to this. This is a fight, frankly speaking. Why're there these rules?"

            "Beats me."

            "Well, Andro's a…resourceful person. He'll find some way out of this. I hope."

************

            Andro, on the other hand, seemed to have given up the ghost. He stood perfectly still, weapons dangling at his sides. It was as though all the fight had been knocked out of him.

            An evil smile spread across Claire's face, as she considered the situation.

            "Giving up so soon? What a pity."

            Very slowly, she tested the point of a needle with her finger. 

            "Looks like I'll just put you outta your misery."

            She charged again, feet snapping against the hard floor like shears. Andro sidestepped at the last moment, in a final attempt to dodge.

            He failed. Three flechettes embedded themselves in his sleeve, evoking a muffled growl of pain. Andro swore, colorfully and sincerely. 

            "Damn! That stings!"

            Claire hadn't escaped unscathed either. Andro's knives had drawn a neat line across her face, drawing serious blood. Face wounds often bled like hell, but were rarely fatal. The girl didn't seem to notice the pain at all. Her eyes glared at Andro, with a strange, sharp light in them.

            "All my weapons are poisoned, Andro. In a few moments, you won't be able to move. And then…Then I'll finish you."

            For his own part, Andro didn't react at all to this proclamation.

            "Paralysis poison, you say?"

            Something like mirth spread across his stiffening face.

            "That's funny. I used the _same_ poison on my weapons."

            "…"

            Claire sweatdropped.

            Up in the stands, Ryan began to laugh and laugh and laugh.

            "(Wheeze)...Now they're _both _poisoned…(Gasp)"

            Very slowly, the two figures below fell over, hitting the floor none-too-gently, with an audible _thud._

            "DRAW!!!"

            A draw. Not the best result, but not too shabby either. The DHS Team vaulted down from the stands, to help lift their comrade back to the waiting ambulance.

************

            "Well, looks like it's my turn now, guys."

            "Good luck, Chan. Don't end up like Andro."

            "That's a…comforting thought."

            Chan tightened his gloves, checking the Mage Cannon one last time to make sure it was fully loaded. The rune-carved weapon seemed to glow with a faint aura, pulsing with a life of its own.

            Satisfied, the young man flipped it in the air, caught it, and vaulted over the stands, straight into the ring. From the other side, someone else did likewise, striding towards the centre.

            Chan felt a strange vibe in the air, as he detected someone else with power…Power like his very own. Whoever was coming to meet him was _also _a Stand-wielder.

            But if he felt fear, he did a good job of hiding it. Neither combatant slowed, or even turned aside as they approached.

            Finally, the two came almost face-to-face.

            A tall man in a red jacket stared right back at him. He bowed, a mere inclination of the head, assessing Chan as he did.

            Finally, the man spoke, in a flat, dead voice.

            "I am Alvin, wielder of the Stand, Macabre. I serve NESTS Cartel."

            Chan aped the motion, and went through with the formal reply.

            "I am Chan, wielder of World-Eater Requiem. I serve no master."

            A brief moment of silence, as both composed themselves for the violence that would follow. Alvin broke the silence, his voice like the sound of metal on metal.

            "I challenge you."

            "I accept."

            Things began to happen _very _fast.

************

            "FIGHT!!" 

            The voice came over the loudspeaker, devoid of any life. It shattered the last of the peace in the area, as the battle promptly commenced.

            Despite the command, there was a brief pause, as the combatants looked each other over and tried to tell exactly _how _powerful the other was. They both had senses attuned to the mystical, and they made full use of them.

            Chan didn't like what he saw in Alvin. The man was like a power vacuum, drawing in all the life around him, and bringing forth only death. He was completely calm and poised, ready to move at any moment.

            Unknown to Chan, Alvin had also scanned him, and was equally perturbed. The young man was like a sun gone nova, with wild tracers of formless energy rocketing off in all directions. Every now and then, a wave of azure light would roll over his aura, bringing calm- Moments before the cycle began anew.

            Chan made the first move, the Mage Cannon appearing in his hands in a blur of motion. He fired three times, backing away as he did. The boy had utterly no desire to face Alvin on his own terms.

            True to form, he wasn't far wrong.

            Alvin had expected him to close for combat, and was taken aback by the instant evasion. His eyes widened, as he saw the projectiles whistling towards him.

            Time slowed.

            Alvin bent backwards, impossibly low. The first bullet drifted overhead almost lazily, snipping off a stray thread of hair. The second soared past him arm, tracing a thin line of crimson into the air. The third missed completely, aimed too high for any chance at contact.

            Without missing a beat, the Stand-wielder straightened up, glaring right back at Chan. If looks could kill…Well…Ugly things would be happening to Chan at around that time.

            The teenager, for his own part, stared, mouth agape.

            Then, he chuckled.

            "I'm gonna fire another clip. Let's see if you can dodge it _this time."_

            Nervous laughter resounded from the audience, as they tried to understand the situation. The gamblers quickly shifted their bets, whispers barely audible beneath the commotion.

            True to form, Chan fired again, gun thundering out a triple burst. Alvin dodged the first, but the second round blew a hole through his shoulder, dropping him to the ground in an untidy heap.

            "Had enough yet?"

            A confident smirk spread across Chan's face, as he reloaded his weapon. Alvin hadn't even laid a finger on him yet. So far, things were looking good. 

            Slowly, his opponent got to his feet, seemingly ignoring his wounds.

            "No. I've barely even began. Macabre? Slay him."

            Chan stiffened, taking an involuntary step back, as a twisted, deformed figure rose next to Alvin. It was a mummified corpse wrapped in leather, a walking plague. A single, blood-red eye glared at Chan, insanity evident in that gaze. The rest of the Stand's face had been crudely stitched together with coarse thread, forming a puckering sore across its head. 

            The thing was covered with leather bands, held on by metal rivets that had been driven all the way through. A constant stream of blood dripped from Macabre, hitting the ground and dissolving in a smooth stream.

            Macabre let off a wet, tortured howl, like the scream of one damned. It tilted towards Chan…And charged.

            "REQUIEM…PUNCH!!!"

            A massive punch promptly met it in the face.

            Requiem stood in front of Chan, armored fists outstretched like battering rams. Behind it, the fighter crouched, drawing some small amount of comfort from his guardian. Chan's face was pale with nausea. He looked sick.

            "That's…That's your Stand? It's…"

            "Horrible?"

            Alvin wrapped a loving hand around the figure, caressing it gently. The Stand growled slightly, but made no other response. The eye was hungrily fixed on Chan, like a starving man eyeing a feast.

            "Yes, that it is. But it's mine. My very own."

            Alvin sounded almost dreamy at the last part, eyes unfocused and drifting. A chill ran down Chan's spine. The man was utterly insane. As if sensing its master's fear, Requiem backed away slightly, growling in a low voice.

            "Now. Die. MISERY RAIN!!"

            Ever seen Chan doing a backflip? It isn't pretty. Because Stand-wielders generally don't do them, for whatever reason. Or at least, Chan doesn't.

 But when choosing between that and death, a crappy roll is a far better choice. And roll Chan did, as a massive volley of metal vines smashed into the floor. They retracted, tugging a sizeable portion of the concrete with them.

            Macabre howled, denied. More and more wires lashed out, seeking warm flesh and blood. Chan ducked, wove, and ran for his life, but simply couldn't dodge them all.

            "JIAZHENG!!! HELP MEEE!!!!"

            The swordsman dove in, landing right in front of Chan, even as the first tentacle approached. There was a flash of green light, and the thing fell, severed. Jiazheng gave his friend a brief thumbs-up, and ran right back to his seat. 

            So. If Chan was going to win this, he would have to win it by himself.

            As Alvin was recovering, Chan struck back, attacking in perfect tandem with his Stand. He aimed each and every attack at Macabre, intending to take out his opponent's main source of attack and defense. From past experience, Chan knew that damage to a Stand would carry over to the wielder, bringing with it pain, agony and other unpleasant side effects. Previously, he had theorized that the death of the Stand also meant the death of the user, but he had utterly no desire to find out whether he was correct.

            "STAND CRASH ASSAULT!!!"

            Requiem assaulted Macabre with a countless number of high-speed strikes, hands lashing out like axe blades. Giggling insanely, Macabre dodged again and again, somehow avoiding each and every blow. The thing giggled like a schoolgirl, capering insanely back and forth. Frustration growing, Chan flung a force bolt at it, but missed completely. 

            Once more, the damnable wires lashed out, stopped at the last moment by Requiem's shield. Snarling, Chan smashed them back with its sharp edge, wielding it as weapon and defense at once. Alvin was incredibly experience, far better at control than he should have been. Chan had much more raw power, but had to struggle to do anything with it. Alvin moved like a master, manipulating his Stand like an extra arm or two. Normally, Chan would've been thrilled to learn from someone better than him. Right now, he was just annoyed.         

            "I know what you're doing."

            Alvin was once again behind Macabre, idly cleaning his fingernails with a short-bladed knife.

            "You want to destroy my power, don't you? Give it up. Macabre has no weaknesses."

            He punctuated the comment with a solid blast of black light, that took Requiem right in the face. Chan swore, as pain flooded into him through the link. Summoning up his will, he forced the attack away, even as the blood vessels in his nose and throat reopened.

            The audience booed. To them, the two were standing stock-still, and letting their puppets do the fighting for them. They didn't want to see that. They wanted action.

            "LESS DEEP-THOUGHT, MORE ON-SLAUGHTER!!! LESS DEEP-THOUGHT, MORE ON-SLAUGHTER!!!"

            They wanted blood.

            And, ever the showman, Chan was about to give it to them. His lip was bleeding, where he had bitten right through. Chan spat once, spitting away the sour taste of blood. It was a damn good thing he hadn't bitten right through his tongue.

            The fighter wiped his mouth, and flicked the single drop at Alvin, gripping the Mage Cannon tightly. Time to play it up.       "Thirsty? That's all you'll get today."

            Alvin smirked. Macabre advanced, in perfect tempo with its owner. Both fighters began to close in on Chan, slowly but surely driving him to the back of the arena. Chan was content with a slow, measured strategic advance to the rear. He was_ NOT running away! He was __NOT!_

            "Overconfidence. Always a sign of inferiority. Soon, you'll regret you wasted that precious drop."

            Unable to take it any more, Chan fired from the hip, fanning his Magnum like a professional gunslinger. He watched in terrified astonishment, as Macabre caught the white-hot rounds like slowly-tossed tennis ball, casually passing them to one side. Alvin raised his hands, metal wires sprouting from somewhere in his sleeve. Evidently, he shared something of his Stand's powers. That too was new.

            "Just surrender, Chan. I'll make it quick. You deserve that much, at least."

            The teenager didn't dignify the statement with an answer. Instead, he shoved the Mage Cannon back into its holster. His hands burst into blue flame, casting long shadows along the ground. 

            "No more props. I'm just gonna have to do this the _hard _way."

            As Chan spoke, Requiem began to change. The Stand's right hand altered subtly, a single long spike growing from the limb. The other 

            "BURNING…"

            The weapon swung into an attack position. Chan began to run, streamers of azure light following him, as the wind tugged at his clothes. Alvin braced for the attack, his vines splaying out as a shield. His Stand shifted right in front of him, giggling insanely, and likewise ready for the final clash.

            "RAVE!!!"

            Impact.

            Macabre took the spike right through the stomach. It was sent flying away, still impaled. Alvin swore, and struck back with all his might. His wires came down on Chan's arms hard, raising bleeding welts where they touched. Shutting off the pain, Chan smashed his fist into the man's head. Bone gave under that blow, and Alvin staggered back, somehow getting in a kick to the gut. Both tried to get back up. Each wanted to kill the other, but it was all they could do not to retch.

            Chan fell, his arms screaming at him. Alvin did likewise, struggling to his feet. 

            "Damn you…"

            Alvin raised his hands, fingers splayed together in a casting position. A black ball of corruption tore through the air, speeding right towards his opponent. 

            Chan saw the approaching strike. He leapt back, tossing away his cumbersome trenchcoat as he did. Only one thing would turn the fight now…

            "THE WORLD!!!"

            Then he was gone, stepping into the gaps between time.

************

            Warily, Alvin turned, attempting to look in all directions at once. He had to call back Macabre. It would require several days to recover from its beating, but would eventually be as good as new-Assuming Alvin himself survived this. The damn coat slowly fluttered to the ground, where his opponent had stood. Alvin seriously considered ripping apart, but quickly set the thought aside in favor of more important matters.

            There wasn't anywhere for Chan to hide. He wasn't anywhere directly in front of Alvin. But that meant…He was somewhere-

            -Behind him. 

Even as Alvin spun, he knew he was too late.

"WORLD-BREAKER!!!"

Everything went white.

************

            A massive pillar of light burst into existence, right in the center of the ring. Those closest shielded their eyes, gasping in pain. Ryan and Jiazheng squinted into the brightness, wondering who was still alive. 

            The pillar faded, leaving a massive cloud of dust in its wake. Murmurs broke out in the seats once more, as the money-minded viewers wondered what this meant for their bets. 

From somewhere within the cloud, the steady sounds of footsteps resounded, one at a time. Brief silence descended, as if the world itself held its breath to witness the victor of that titanic clash. 

Very slowly, Chan emerged, soot smeared all over his clothing and face. He held his once-white trenchcoat in one hand, clutched in a white-knuckled grip. The other one dragged the unconscious Alvin along by the collar, none-too-gently. 

            In a smooth motion, Chan let go of his rival, letting the man's head hit the floor, with a rather loud thud. Then, he waved to the audience, and performed a practiced bow.

************

            "Well, that's just like Chan."

            Ryan chuckled, smoothing his hair back. That final move had been something Chan called the "World-Breaker", which discharged what remained of Chan's might into his opponent's body. It hurt like fuck, racked up the points, and was probably one of the visually impressive supers known to man.

            Jiazheng blinked, trying to clear the after-image from his retina.

            "Ow…He won?"

            "Yeah."

            "But…The blast…How did he do it?"

            "How do I control the weather? When you stop wondering about things, Jiazheng, you'll live longer, alright? Just accept it."

            "Okay."

            The swordsman went quiet again.

            "Wait…What's that?"

            "A cage? What the hell is that? Why would anyone need a…Sweet Jesus."

************

            Chan grimly reloaded his weapon, physically and mentally preparing himself for the last member of the pseudo-DHS Team. He was severely weakened already, but still had a good fight left in him. There was no way he would just roll over and die…

            These thoughts flew from his head, as a massive steel cage was lowered into the ring, hoisted by a miniature crane. _Something_ waited inside. An involuntary shudder wracked his spine, as he glimpsed the massive, hulking form inside the container.

            Chan honestly didn't want to know what was inside. But as the massive metal cage came closer and closer to the ground, he knew he soon would, like it or not.

************

            "…AND THE FINAL FIGHTER OF THE SECTION…THE CARTEL TEAM'S GREATEST CREATION…THE INVINCIBLE…THE  UNSTOPPABLE… YIMING!!!!"

            "Uh…Yiming?"

            "What kind of name is that?"

            "Hey, I've heard weirder ones. Like that guy…Kept on calling himself 'Kay Dash'. I mean, that's just a letter and a punctuation mark. His parents must've really hated him."

            Jiazheng shot his friend an odd look.

            "You know, someday, you'll have to tell me what really happened last year."

            "Okay. But you're buying the drinks."

            Jiazheng groaned.

************

            The cage was cut free from its mountings, dropping the last five feet in free-fall. There was a thunderous crash as it struck the ruined floor, wrecking it even further.

            Chan took a cautious step back, as, very slowly, the steel bars began to bend. Massive, gauntleted hands fixed onto them, tearing a sizeable hole through, as they gave way like tissue paper.

            The thick, ponderous steps of someone who was _huge _began to resound through the area, each step deliberate and thundering.

            _Guy must weigh a ton, and tell me that wasn't metal being torn apart-       _

            Chan shot a look at the stands, suddenly envying his classmates, who were relatively safe in their comfortable seats. His instincts were all telling him to run, his brain reminding him it was a dead end, his body happily staying out of the discussion-

            -As the _biggest man he'd ever seen stepped into view, silhouetted by the bright midday sun. He was dressed in a long, army-green overcoat, that somehow only accented his size. The… __thing was built like a wrestler: Taller, but with proportionate bulk. _

Though Chan couldn't see any weapons, he somehow knew, in his heart of hearts, that his opponent didn't need one. He could just barely make out a craggy, handsome face, with short-cropped hair…And fists the size of his head, already raised for the inevitable assault…

_Fire! Shoot him!_

Chan squeezed the trigger once, twice, two times, and saw the impact- A neat hole punched in the uniform, the second burrowing into Yiming's leg-

-and the monster took another step, not a single facial muscle moving. His legs took long, slow strides, as he advanced-

The black holes weren't bleeding.

_SHIT_ !!!!

Chan shifted his aim, pointing his weapon directly at Yiming's heart. His fingers convulsively yanked on the trigger, as the giant took step after step into the stream of fire-

_Clickclickclickclickclick_

-The chamber ran dry, his mind screaming at him to fire and god why didn't it _die? Chan fumbled with new rounds, his once-smooth motions becoming jerky and hurried in his haste-_

-And Yiming was right in front of him, hands reaching out to grasp his throat. Chan realized that this was going to hurt. 

"REQUIEM…PUNCH!!!"

Nothing. No spectral fist, no burst of force. Nothing.

Then Yiming's hands closed around Chan's neck, and there was no time left to think.

************

.

**"EINS!!!"**

The man's massive skull smashed into Chan's. If not for his innate regeneration, and resistance to injury, Chan would've passed out instantly. Unfortunately for him, he didn't, somehow remaining conscious for the rest of the pounding.

**"ZWEI!!!"**

A brutal armdrag followed, with the titanic hulk dragging his victim along the ground, face digging into the hard concrete.

**"DREI!!!"**

A rolling German Suplex.

**"VIER!!!"**

And still the merciless count continued. Yiming dealt out more pain with a Running Bear Slam, though his victim was already in too much pain to notice it.

**"FUNF!!!"**

A _leaping_ German Suplex this time. He truly had no imagination whatsoever. The audience winced at the carnage. Some flinched involuntarily, looking away.

**"SECHS!!!"**

The man hoisted Chan onto his shoulder, and Powerbombed him, with a well-timed running start. Fortunately, Chan had finally given up the ghost, and was safely off somewhere in dreamland at this point. As such, he barely even felt the big final.

**"BUSTA!!!"**

Yiming leapt, grabbing Chan by the legs. He came down, at top speed…And then tripped, involuntarily losing his balance, as someone tackled him, snatching Chan's form from his arms.

The man's head turned, to view the one who had stopped him…

************

            Ryan, the last remaining member of the team, stood right in front of Yiming. He gently set Chan down, motioning for the ambulance attendants to take him away. Somewhere behind him, the crowd cheered their hero on, shouting down the objections of the referee. His opponent's eyes flashed evil death at him, but he made no move.

            Despite his calm, purposeful motions, Ryan's face was a pasty shade of white, as he considered the titanic battle ahead of him. To make things worse, the other team still had not used their Striker, adding yet another unknown quality to the equation.

            The monster stood stock-still, his eyes fixed on something only he could see. If Ryan hadn't seen him in action mere moments ago, he would've sworn he was about to do battle with a statue.

            Slowly, the youth ran through his warming-up katas, loosening up his muscles, and focusing his mind for the fight that would soon follow. 

**            "FIGHT!!"**

            As the synthesized voice bellowed the command, Ryan sprang into action. He ran forward, winding up for a massive kick to slam his opponent into the wall, followed by the obligatory air combo.

            Ryan had practiced this move many times before, on countless training dummies. Always, it had worked perfectly. But now…

            Yiming took the kick in the chest. He moved about two inches. And that was all.

            Ryan rebounded from his strike, wobbling on his suddenly unsteady leg. That had been like kicking a stone wall! He swore, readjusting his stance to compensate. There HAD to be something that could hurt the other guy…

            Then, he saw something that crushed the last of his hope.

            His opponent reached into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a small metal orb. Even as Ryan watched, it began to glow. And then shit happened.

            Every loose shard of stone, from all around the shattered battlefield, took flight, heading straight towards the juggernaut. There was a brief, stinging rain, one that forced Ryan to cover his eyes. 

            And then…Yiming was encased in stone armor. The shards had been attracted to him, by some devilish means Ryan didn't even want to think about. The already-massive man was now even bigger, his bulk supplemented by an extra layer of protection. Eyeing the razor-sharp spines and outcroppings, Ryan realized that this armor was both shield and weapon at once: A potent combination. 

            "And now…You lose."

            A pair of red-glowing eyes emerged from somewhere within that craggy armor, as the golem began to move. 

            "Holy…"

            Ryan stared. 

            "WAVE CANNON!"

            Nothing. He felt the elemental energy being pulled away from him, into the shadowy figure still in the stands…

            _GET DOWN!!!_

            A massive thunderbolt ripped from the seats, tearing right past Ryan's head. A feminine voice said several unfeminine things, as the misaimed power struck the much-abused wall.

            "Wait…Karmen?"

            Damnit to hell! Another of his classmates was somewhere on that bench!

            The girl's voice continued, without much pause.

            "YIMING, YOU BIG LUG!!! KILL HIM! NOW!!!"

            That didn't sound like the Karmen he knew. Still that wasn't really important. Ryan was going to try not to die. Everything else came secondary. He turned back to fight, with a vengeance. A thin sheen of force coalesced around Ryan's arms, as he charged up in the only way he knew how. Thus augmented, he charged, fists pounding away at his foe.

            He was promptly caught, and slammed to the floor. 

"Get up." 

The man's voice echoed from somewhere within his protection, distorted and warped by the stone.  With a defiant snarl, Ryan turned a fancy backflip, rolling back to his feet in a blur of motion. 

Ten seconds later, he wondered if his skull had just been fractured as he finally crashed back into the ground. In the previous moments he had been kicked, thrown into the air, uppercutted, and set on fire. Wait, no, not set on fire, that was just his spine acting up. Despite the beating and subsequent hard fall he'd just taken, Ryan wasted no time in regaining his footing again, being far more careful this time. 

Yiming wouldn't waste time in gloating over a fallen opponent, and Ryan had no intention of letting himself be pummeled into submission.

Not that he didn't try. The monster attacked with a will, cautiously picking his targets in order to sneak past Ryan's prodigious defenses. Ryan was a poseur in the fighting ring, but for the most part, he was able to neutralize Yiming's offensive, but any attempt to counter was punished. Severely.

In the space of several seconds, Ryan got his arms slashed open, and was limping from repeated abuse to his wounded leg. So far, he'd been able to dodge the larger man's grasp, but knew that he wasn't going to be lucky much longer.

Nothing he did could hurt the titan. Wave Cannons, Lawless Oceans, Water Slashes…All to no avail. Everything simply bounced off, or was dismissed as unimportant. A thin line of blood was running into Ryan's eyes, partially blinding him. He shook his head, tossing the stray droplets away. Ryan's legs, arms and side were on fire, and his breathing was labored and ragged. He couldn't go on much longer. 

"BASTARD!!! YOU'RE LOOKING FOR DEATH!!!"

Ryan lunged, striking his opponent in the face with one Damn Powerful Leaping punch. Stone and bone gave way under the strike, as the titan staggered away, hands clutching at his face. Ryan grinned. It could be hurt!

Then Yiming punched him back.

The strength behind the blow was incredible. Ryan was sent into the air, blasted backwards at a incredible rate. He hit the ground hard, barely catching himself on his hands and knees. Ryan coughed wetly, spitting out a gobbet of blood. He winced. Everything on the right side of him chest felt broken, and he was sure he'd heard his ribs crack.

Furthermore, the weather was beginning to become a distraction. Rain began to pelt the two fighters. Visibility was reduced as water began to cascade down from the sky. The scene was only readily visible when lightning arced across the sky, bathing everything for a moment in a cold white glare.

After the first such bolt, Ryan grinned to himself. He now had an ace up his sleeve, and he intended to utilize it to his utmost benefit.

After a short combo series from Yiming, just as the storm began in earnest, Ryan took a chance and stepped back, then shadowjumped over the spiked punch his opponent threw in pursuit. He made a perfect landing behind the man. 

Yiming spun around too quickly for Ryan to close in and grab or strike him, but that was fine with him. Ryan had all the time he needed to raise his arms and bring them back down.

"STORM OF VENEGANCE!!!!"

The clouds rumbled, the wind swirled, and Yiming spared a glance into the sky just as the bolts of electricity descended in the upgraded version of Ryan's Raging Storm. To Yiming's credit, he *almost* got out of range.

            Rock armor or not, there was enough electricity in that strike to power a city for years.

************

            Ryan raised both hands to the sky, basking in his victory. His leg hurt like hell, but it was a small price to pay. 

            Cautiously, he cast a glance at the opposite seats. No one was there. Apparently, Karmen had done a fast fade, running for it the moment her champion had gone down.

            A grim smile spread across his face, as he listened to the roar of the crowd's adulation. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he wondered how many more fights like these his friends would have to face before this was over.

            Silently, he dismissed those worrying thoughts. Ryan adopted his classic victory pose, waving to the fans. Cautiously, he toed Yiming's body, wondering whether his opponent was truly out. Whatever it was, the big man wasn't getting back up for some time, at least.

            Personally, he didn't care. It just gave him more time to pose for the victorious crowd. He barely noticed when his knees buckled under him, spilling him to the hard floor. And then, there was only darkness…And the wail of the ambulance's sirens.

(Whew. Chapter 2 is finally finished, sorry for the long wait. The last fight was a bit rushed, and I'm truly sorry I couldn't flesh it out more. Still, it's over. And now for the interlude. As you can see, despite several new powers, the DHS team is now…weaker, n a way. Notice how Chan's opponents shrugged off the Mage Cannon? Believe me, it only get worse from here on. Anyway, this is the updated version of Chapter 2, with several of the rougher points smoothened over.)


	3. Ambivalence

**Chapter 3: Ambivalence**

(Author's Note: I've decided to swap back to the KOF 2000 Striker System, because the KOF 2001 version sucks. However, the characters are still their KOF 2001 versions.)

Inside the hospital, everything was quiet. It was already long past visiting hours, and even the most die-hard guests had left. 

Two people still remained, seated outside the place's main operating theatre. Ryan leaned back against the bench's backing, seemingly at complete ease with the world. Idly, he tossed the device retrieved from Yiming's body in his hand.

Jiazheng had headed back to the hotel first. 

With a sigh, Ryan stood up, and began pacing once more. He was getting nervous. It had been an entire day since Andro and Chan had been put into there, and there still hadn't been any news about them. 

At that moment, the doors swung open, and a masked doctor burst out.

Ryan was on him in a flash.

"WHERE ARE THEY? WHAT HAPPENED?"

"Good news. Your friends are on the road to full recovery. Andro just needed some stitches, and a dose of antivenin. He can head back today. As for Chan…Well, I've never seen anything like his case before. As soon as we stitched his wounds together, they began closing. He'll be limping for a few weeks, but should be okay."

The boy relaxed, releasing the man's collar. 

"Good. That's good to hear."

He removed a small wad of cash, and handed it to the doctor.

"Keep him safe. Chan'll be able to leave by himself tomorrow, alright?"

"I…I understand."

The man was already flipping through the bills when Ryan left.

**************

The Next Day…

"Yo! Look who's back!"

Chan walked in through the door, with barely a limp. He had a bandage wrapped round his head, making it look like some kind of oversized turban. Personally, at the rate his wounds were healing, he felt he wasn't going to need it in a few days.

Andro leaned casually against the wall, as quiet as always. Jiazheng was seated at the small coffee table, reading the newspaper. Both flipped him a mock salute as he walked in.

Chan glared at both of them. He had a splitting headache, and wasn't in the mood for any of their tricks. 

Ryan burst out from the bathroom, his toothbrush still in hand. A white froth covered his mouth, dripping onto the carpet floor. He looked so ludicrous that Chan almost laughed. Almost.

"Hey! Nice hat, Chan!"

"…Shut up…"

"Never knew you liked turbans, though. It sure goes well with your coat…"

            _BLAM!!!_

            Sudden silence filled the room. Chan lowered his smoking weapon, and heaved a sigh of relief. 

            "Look, I don't feel like myself today, okay? Getting piledriven into concrete, and trying to heal yourself later kinda sucks. I got this really bad headache…"

            He spun the Mage Cannon for emphasis. Every pair of eyes in the room followed the motion. The gun somehow ended up back in his holster. 

            "…And I don't _care_ what I have to do to stop it. So keep quiet."

            Everyone started talking at once, in hushed voices.

            "…Sorry, man. We were just kidding, alright?"

            "Well, we have just the thing for you."

            "And that is?"

            "See, we haven't had our post-victory celebration yet, what with the fight and all. So…We intend to hit the town later tonight. Sounds great, doesn't it?"

            Jiazheng raised an eyebrow.

            "What'd you mean 'post-victory'? You guys ALWAYS celebrate after you win?"

            "Hey…Live for the moment, my friend. Live for the moment."

            Chan nodded. Though he was supposed to be the leader, how could anyone lead a group of students? Well, there wasn't much use in complaining. 

            "Alright. Later, okay? But make that there's no…"

            He was cut off by a multitude of loud, noisy cheers.

**************

Later That Day…

            The Pao Pao Café #395 isn't a great place, after all's said and done. 

            Sure, it has some of the charm of its now non-existent Southtown counterpart, and on any given night, the band rocks. But…It kinda has something of an identity crisis. Simply put, it tries too hard to be like the one in Southtown.

            When the doors were opened, music struck the boys like a concrete force, nearly blasting them right back out. It took an exertion of will to take the first few steps inside.

            Ryan signaled to the bartender, yelling to make himself heard.

            "Four of my usual! And a table at the back!"

            "There's one at the corner! It's empty!"

            A moment later, the group was seated in a dark corner away from the bar, with a pitcher of beer, a bottle of wine, two frosted mugs and two glasses.

            Ryan filled Jiazheng's mug for him, even as Andro and Chan reached for the glasses. 

            "Drink up, man."

            "But I don't *like*---"

            "You do tonight. The entire point is to relax, and unwind."

            And, Ryan silently added, to get you roaring drunk. But he didn't say that out loud. Chan shot him a knowing grin, raising his glass in a salute. He would let Ryan handle this. Somehow, his heart wasn't really in this. 

            In fact, Chan was thinking of something else entirely, about an encounter in this very bar a year ago…

            "Chan, you ain't touching your drink. Something wrong?"

            "No, nothing. 

            He gulped down the entire drink, wincing as the alcohol hit his head like a punch in the face. Swallowing, Chan shoved the glass forward, ignoring the odd looks he was receiving from the others.

            "Another round, guys. What?" 

            The drinking commenced.

**************

            "…And so I told Faye: 'Hey! You don't do that to anyone here!'"

            Jiazheng paused for effect, gesturing wildly at everything and nothing. 

            "…No matter how much he _liked _it! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

            Ryan grinned slightly, refilling his mug again. Around them, the place was littered with empty pitchers, as well as two bottles of wine. Andro and Chan had already stopped drinking, sipping idly at their last glasses. 

            An experienced drinker, Ryan wasn't even feeling the buzz from his own mugs. Jiazheng…Well, Jiazheng was completely smashed.

            The swordsman got up for emphasis, reaching over the table for a still-full pitcher. It took three tries before he got it right. Then, unsteadily, he tried to sit down. If Andro hadn't shoved the chair under him, he would've fallen.

            Chan shook his head, feeling faintly…disgusted. 

            He pushed his chair away, and got up, setting his glass down.

            "I'm going for a walk, guys. See you later."

            Ryan barely seemed to hear him, already busy with yet _another _mug. If not his iron-hard constitution, he would've already been on the floor. As such, he was still in relative control of his bodily functions…But, probably not for much longer.

            Andro nodded absently, focusing more on the house band than anything else.

            "Sure…See you later, Chan."

**************

            The night air was nice and cool. The moment Chan stepped out, he felt the alcoholic vapors begin to clear from his mind. With a sigh of relief, he began to walk away, feeling more and more sober with each step.

His feet took him through the centre of a funfair of some sort. The happy crowds were all around him, most out for some light holiday shopping right before Christmas. No one recognized Chan. He didn't fit in, simply enough. Even his clothes and hair drew glances from passerbys. 

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't even notice them.

            With the precision of a surgeon, Requiem's arm emerged from somewhere overhead, giving Chan a hard tap to the back of his skull. The teenager swore, knocked out of his ruminations.

            "Damn, that hurt! Don't DO that!"

            No answer. Chan sighed. Requiem was supposed to be his spirit, no matter how twisted it had become. When the visual representation of your soul strikes you over the head…Geez, how pathetic is that?

            It was worrying, in a way. Ever since the Zero Cannon incident, Chan's control over Requiem had lessened. The Stand still obeyed him, but there was a sense of…Reluctance. That was something new. 

World-Eater had not true personality, always remaining quiet an unobserved at the back of his head. Requiem…Well, Requiem _lived. _He had a feeling it wanted to be free. 

With a shrug, he dismissed those thoughts. Chan still had the Mage Cannon, and his blue energy, after all. He wasn't _completely _helpless, anyway. For some reason or another, he had ended up somewhere in the slum areas, which happened to be oddly quiet at this time of the year…

            There was a sudden burst of sound and light, from one of the side streets. Gunfire.

            Now _that explained the silence. But who was doing the shooting? More importantly, exactly what were they shooting at?_

            Chan drew the Mage Cannon, and ran in that direction. He didn't give himself time to think about what he was doing.

**************

"Chan's sure takin' a loooooooooong tiiiiiiiiiiiime...bwaaaaaaaaaaahhh..." Jiazheng barely managed.  Given the many, *many* empty mugs that lay beside him, it was a wonder that he'd been able to say that much.

Ryan, who'd stopped drinking a while ago, agreed.  

"No kidding." 

He then took one look at Jiazheng, and decided, "Okay, I shouldn't let you get up. Hey, where're the drinks stored?  I'll get us some new bottles myself."

Andro considered this for a while, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Something was bothering him, though he couldn't quite name it…

"Yeah, whatever. Just a few a more drinks, and we head back."

**************

Sergeant Davis, late of the Ikari Warriors, was _not_ having a good day.

He would never get used to this job, no matter what. It was hard enough dealing with normal soldiers, already. Battling half-human monstrosities and clones were even worse. And searching for them right in the middle of a huge city, was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Especially this one. He had lost half his men, in an attempt to bring it down. Of the fifteen left with him, seven were suffering from severe frostbite. The rest were already tired, injured, and basically pissed off. 

But now, the chase was almost over. They had it cornered, with every man who could hold a weapon sealing off any possible exits. There was only one way out, and it was through them. 

Davis spotted a brief flash of white hair, and the sound of running footsteps. The trap had been sprung.

"All units, fire at will. Repeat, all units, fire at…"

He never finished his sentence. Someone crashed into him, knocking them both onto the floor. Davis swore, and shoved his assailant away. His gun swung up…

Then Davis froze.

"Hey! You're Chan 'Burnout', the KOF Champion! This is a military operation, man! Get outta…"

He shouldn't have wasted his breath.

"REQUIEM PUNCH!!!"

The next moment, Davis was lying on the floor, his broken body unconscious.

"Sorry 'bout that. But you're no fan of mine."

Chan kicked the rifle away, into a pile of garbage at the side. Then, he took a deep breath, summoned up the last of his courage, and headed right on. Something big was happening, and he intended to be the first to find it.

**************

Andro was bored.

Watching Ryan drink himself into a stupor had been fun at first, but it kinda lost its novelty after a while. Jiazheng was now well and truly out of it, completely and utterly stone drunk. The swordsman was unconscious, blissfully asleep on the tabletop.

"Ryan, it's time to go."

No answer. Ryan's glazed eyes were locked on the bottom of his mug, never moving and never blinking.

"C'mon, Ryan. We'll drop Jiazheng off in the hotel, then go find Chan. I have a feeling that he's in trouble again."

Still no answer. With a sigh, Andro reached over, and retrieved the ice bucket. Well, if it had worked last year…

Ryan received a wave of ice cubes and freezing water over the head. Spluttering, he sat bolt upright, glaring at Andro, even as he began to shudder.

"Curse…Curse…you…Why does everyone do that…"

"Shaddup. We're going. NOW."

The two heaved their friend between them, and staggered out, arguing over who was supposed to pay the bill.

**************

            Kula slumped against the wall of the alley, completely exhausted. She clutched the ragged bullet wound in her arm, as she considered all that had gone wrong.

            Mere hours ago, she'd been chatting with sister Angel, in a comfortable hideout somewhere south of here. Then, the windows had exploded, and the bad men had burst in, firing and firing…

            Kula had run, fleeing in the first direction she had seen. She didn't know where the others were, and didn't even know whether they were alive. All around her, the girl could hear the Ikari Warriors closing in.

            More than anything else, Kula didn't _want_ to die.

            She stole another glance at her bandaged arm. A lucky shot had blown a hole right through, clipping flesh but missing bone. Blood seeped through the cloth hurriedly wound around it, trickling out drop by slow drop. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear footsteps, closing in…

            Kula raised her unwounded hand. She wasn't going down without a fight… 

            The hand fell, as she realized who it was.

            "CHAN? Why…why are you…"

            "I'll tell you later. Could we get outta here first? There's this guy I knocked out, and he might be waking up anytime soon…"

            "I'm not going with you! Not until I know _why_!"

            "Suit yourself. You're injured, I'm not. You also have no idea whatsoever of how to leave. To put it this way…"

            Chan cast a cautious glance over his shoulder. He couldn't wait much longer.

            "You don't _have a damn choice. Now follow me."_

            Dully, Kula allowed herself to be led away. Once more, it no longer mattered what she did. It never did.

**************

            After dropping Jiazheng back off at the room, Andro and Ryan hit the streets again, ostensibly to find their unofficial leader. Strictly speaking, their plan involved more guesswork than anything else. They intended to walk down random paths, till they banged into Chan. Failing that, they intended to find someplace that sold good food at this time of the night.

Halfway down the metaphorical beaten path…

"GIMME ALL YOUR MONEY, BOYZZZ!" 

Andro never looked up, and Ryan just kept walking. 

"Aw...c'mon guyzz...just gimme your money, and I won't have to cut ya!" 

Andro stopped, and gritted his teeth. He turned and looked back at their assailant. He was a grimy man with a neon-green mohawk wearing some sort of plastic serape. In his hand, he had two short, dagger-style knives, which were blunt and rusty enough as to be more of a threat to wielder than to victim.

"Look...Would you just give it up? This NEVER works!" 

"Waitzz…You're Andro. I've studied all your moves…You can't hope to beat me! Look! I brought me mates!!!"

Several small, skinny forms poured out from the shadows, sharp-edged and vaguely shiny objects in their hands. They would've been a threat…If they weren't such complete amateurs. 

Ryan sighed, and crackled his knuckles, in the anticipation of hitting someone. Hard.

"Well, shall we get started?"

Andro held his arms out, slightly to the side. His own razor-sharp blades slid out, with a nasty-sounding _klink. _

Several of the punks gulped. Their leader, in an attempt to provide an example for his men, promptly lunged forward, swinging his cheap knives from side to side.

In a swift motion, Andro tripped him, stomped on his arms, and kicked him into his friends, sending the entire group crumpling to the ground. Calmly, he tossed the man's own knives back to him. They stuck, blade-first in the ground, quivering slightly. Both blades were artistically located inches from the poor bastard's nose.

"Wanna try again?"

The punk took a single look at his weaponry, another look at Andro, and promptly headed for the hills.

"Dumbasses…"

"Hey, look! They're getting up!"

"More work for us, then. Think they'll miss a few organs?"

**************

            After three-quarters of a bottle of water, and some aspirin bought over-the-counter at a nearby store, Kula began to feel more like her old self. The wound in her arm still hurt, but not as much as it previously had. Only an occasional twinge reminded her it was still there. Of course, she intended to take a more careful look at it later…

            Chan, for his own part, was extremely uncomfortable. He simply couldn't think of any logical reason why he was doing what he had done.        

            They walked on in silence, as Chan took a path that would lead them right back to the safer part of the city. There was some distance left to go, but it wasn't really a problem.

            Somewhere in the back of his head, Chan's mind went through a short argument with itself.

            _Why in hell did you help her? She tried to kill you._

**_            …She was hurt, and in trouble. Where's your sense of chivalry? _**

_Where's your sense of SELF-PRESERVATION? She probably doesn't even **like**_ _you, asshole._

**_You speak only of yourself._**

_That's beside the point. Just shoot her in the head, and run off. No one will notice._

**_…She's even cuter than she used to be, you know. Where's the harm?_**

A pause in the internal monologue.

_Aww, to hell with it. I'll just ask a few questions._

**_Knew that would work. ^_^_**

_Shut up._

He shot a glance at Kula from the side. Well, the hentai side of his brain was probably right, as always, but he intended to ignore that, focusing on one major point: SHE HAD TRIED TO _KILL HIM. Somehow, it always came back to that._

Kula looked back at him oddly, as if wondering what in hell he was thinking about. It was a legit question, as he didn't know either.

"So…" Chan decided to begin with a few casual questions.

"Exactly what happened to you? I mean, why were you hiding out in an alleyway somewhere, with a group of heavily-arms troops after you?"

Moments after he said that, he mentally kicked himself.

_Way to go. Only an idiot would answer that._

"Well…We were attacked. These bad guys broke in, and wanted to kill us. They tried to shoot big sister Diana, but I think she made it. We were separated in the commotion, and…and…It's been a day since I've since them…"

Kula snuffled slightly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. 

Chan kicked himself again.

"Geez, I'm sorry to even bring that up. Just to ask, anyway…How many of your friends are here?"

"Oh, there's brother K'9999, sister Angel, big sister Diana and big sister Foxy. That makes five of us!"

"Uh-huh. And what are they doing here?

"We're taking part in the tournament! Isn't that great?"

Kula let off a beaming smile, switching from angst to joy-joy in several seconds. Chan felt his danger sense tingling, as it always did. The urge to attack became more and more unbearable…

"You know, Chan, you're a nice guy."

"Hmm?"

"All this while, and you never mentioned anything about…Last year."

"Yeah, okay. It's not really important."

Increasingly uncomfortable, Chan shifted from foot to foot. He _had_ to get back, and warn the others! In fact, he wanted anything other than to be walking right next to Kula at this point in time. Alarms were going off in the back of his head. They were alternately yelling RUN. NOW. Or, KILL.

"Well…Aren't you angry?"

Requiem shattered a nearby wall with a single punch.

"Angry? What gave you that thought? Why SHOULD I be angry?"

"Oh."

Silence. 

"Look. I need to get back home now, alright? I'll see you again sometime. Unless…You need help or something?"

"No…I think I can find the others myself. Bye, Chan! Thanks for everything!"

            Chan turned, and ran off, taking the path that he knew would lead him right back. The sooner he told the others of NESTS response, the better. Kula showing up, the NESTS team entering the competition…How more coincidental could you get? 

He put on a burst of speed, accelerating even faster. It was time to implement the plans they had discussed a while ago.

**************

            Ryan let the last man's broken body drop, dusting his hands on his pants.

            "Exactly what were on, you think? Less than half ran away even after I electrified one!"

            "For you, yes. Most of mine crapped their pants."

            "You didn't have to go through that display, you know. Why'd you go and use Massacre on the guy who fell? He'll need therapy for the rest of his life."

            "Huh. At worse, he'll have nightmares that he died and went to hell. Nothing major."

            The two turned away, dismissing the pile of unconscious men as a threat. Then, Ryan and Andro got ready to walk off…

            "BURN KNUCKLE!!!"

            "AIEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!"

            Suddenly on the defensive once more, they spun, assuming their respective stances once more.

            A man, clad in a outfit vaguely like that of a pizza delivery man, stood above one of the thugs. The punk's broken hand still clutched the trigger of a gun…But due to the massive fist-print on his face, he was never going to fire it. Ryan recognized him immediately.

            "T…Terry…Bogard…"

            The legendary Lone Wolf turned, a favored Ryan with a smile.

            "Hey! I recognize you too. Ryan Lim, wasn't it? The previous champion? Nice fighting style, too."

            "Uh…Yeah! That's me! How'd you know?"

            "Television, you know. Information travels _much _faster now."

            Terry turned, taking in Andro with a trained eye. He extended a hand towards the assassin, the one that no longer glowed with power.

            "And you must be Andro. I've heard a lot about you."

            Andro watched the conversation with interest, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. Upon realizing that he wasn't going to get a response, Terry let his hand drop.

            "Ryan, you know him?"

            "Andro, that's TERRY BOGARD! The living LEGEND!"

            "Then why does he look like a pizza boy?"

            Terry frowned slightly at that, a brief flash of irritation passing across his face. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. Abruptly, the man turned, tilting his ever-preset red cap.

            "Well, I just stopped by to say hi. See you next week, champs. Good luck."

            He turned and walked off, quickly fading away beyond the dim pool of the streetlights.

            "Huh. The living legend? Doesn't look particularly special to me…"

            "…Andro, you know. Geez. Nevermind."

**************

It was another hour before Chan reached home. 

Panting, he crashed through the door, looking like he'd just run the marathon. Sweat stained his jacket, as he gasped like a fish out of water.

Once again, his teammates weren't exactly surprised.

"Yo! Where were you, our fearless leader?"

"We spent an hour looking for you. It's twelve midnight. What was going on??"

Managing to catch his breath, Chan looked up, assuming his standard calm demeanor…Just barely.

"We have to talk. Now."

**************

Later…

            "So. That's NESTS second team, ain't it?"

            "Yes. I'm sure of it."

            "Hmmph."

            Chan shoved his chair back and slightly, and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. Even the luxurious room seemed somehow diminished, in the light of the bleak news brought up. Andro was resharpening his weapons, the way he always did, as Ryan leaned against the wall. The impromptu meeting had been going on for quite a while, fraying the nerves of all assembled.   
            It was time to wrap things up.

            "God, I'm tired. Those bastards at NESTS seem to be considering us as a serious threat. They even assembled some of our classmates to fight us. How low is that?"

            Ryan chuckled, at Chan's short speech.

            "Aren't you doing the same thing, Chan? You managed to charm all this info out of your…"

_            ***Click***_

            "I could put a hole through your head with this, Ryan. Back way the hell off."

            "…Well, there's only one thing we can do, guys."

            Ryan and Chan both turned to look at Andro, whose movements never ever changed.

            "And that is? Tell us now, man. Don't do it later by yourself."

            "We kill them."

            The words were delivered in a perfectly calm tone. It was as though Andro was discussing the weather.

            "They'll want to do the same thing to us, won't they? So we go on the offensive. We hit them before they hit us."

            Ryan coughed slightly, face hidden behind his hand.

            "Sorry, Andro. But murder's not my style. Besides, it'll be too obvious. And…We'll never get Jiazheng to go along with it. He'll might make things…Difficult."    

            Chan shook his head too, not looking at his friends.

            "No killing. No unnecessary deaths, at least. We want to kill the bastard who's behind this, not his soldiers."

            _And there's another reason why you don't want them dead too, his mind added, silently mocking him. __Or at least, why you don't want a certain someone dead, no matter how much you try to deny it._

_            **Shut up.**_

            "Their head probably won't even care. And…The cops might be brought down on us. We'll never get a shot at the leader."

            Andro took this silently, seemingly in deep thought. 

            "I didn't say that we should actively hunt them down. I meant that we should use their own weapons against them."

            "Elaborate."

            "The tournament. Accidents happen all the time, don't they? Fatal ones, too. That should send them a message all right."

             "Jiazheng would never agree…"

            "Damn him and the horse he rode in on. What does it matter? So we don't let him fight. We don't know what he can do, anyway. The only reason why he's here is for someone to replace Ogion."

_It would work. _

            "Good idea, Andro. Maybe we should do just that."

            Ryan was in full agreement, a murderous gleam in his eyes. 

            "Best of all, no one can fault us for it. All in the heat of the moment, right?"

            "Then we're agreed. All except…"

            As one, both Andro and Ryan turned to face Chan. 

            "Well? Are you with us, oh Almighty Leader?"

            Forcing a smile, Chan nodded briefly.

            "Then we're agreed."

            "Let's just call it a night, okay? We have a match next week, against the Fatal Fury Team. Get some sleep, guys. It's been a long day."

            "Oh, and talking 'bout that subject…"

            "Tomorrow, guys. Tomorrow."

            And that was all.

(Whew. Writing this chapter was extremely difficult, and there're probably a few parts left unpolished. Sorry for the long wait, guys. My computer's Internet was down, leaving me with no way to upload it. Besides, what with homework and all…E-learning week's a killer. This chapter marks a 'darker' change to the story, though I'll try to keep it lighthearted. If you have any suggestions, please e-mail me at burnout02urza@yahoo.com . And yes, most of the reviews are from my classmates ^_^. Thanks for your support, guys. Until next time…Bye!)


	4. Fatal Fury

**Chapter 4: The Fatal Fury**

It was not turning out to be Jiazheng's day.

At the crack of dawn, he had been roughly shaken out from his warm bed by his friends, and bundled downstairs, into a waiting car.

A single hurried car ride later, he found himself standing in the King Of Fighters stadium, in the painfully bright light, about to face one of the most deadly people in the world. 

All around, the place was filled with people. A massive, cheering, _shouting_ horde of people, who were putting out enough noise to wake the dead. Everywhere Jiazheng looked, the only thing he could see was people.

This was his second time in the stadium. Sure, there'd been a few kendo/bushido contests back home, but nothing _this_ large. Butterflies the size of wolfhounds began to chew their way out of his stomach, as Jiazheng wondered how the others ever managed to put up with this…

"JIAZHENG!!! EYE ON THE BALL!!!"

Oh, right. Enough of the internal monologue. It was time for the fight.

Andy Bogard stood about five feet away, testing his footing on the solid concrete surface. He had yet to shed his calm expression, while Jiazheng wore a not-untypical look of irritation. 

It had yet to occur to Jiazheng that he was in over his head. 

"Very well," Andy said. "Are you ready?" 

"Yeah, more or less--" Jiazheng put his hands up, ready to draw his weapon the moment the order was given. In response, Andy inclined his head to one side, and his neck cracked. 

"Then let us begin." 

The referee said some sorta nonsense, which was something close to "ahasd;uoihcfuilawfhliu ROUND ONE, FIGHT." 

And thus commenced round one. 

And it nearly ended right there.

It occurred to Jiazheng that he wasn't under the effect of any of his usual powers; he hadn't had time to prepare them. Unfortunately, that realization coincided with Andy's elbow taking him in the solar plexus. His breath left him in a rush. 

Andy took a step back as Jiazheng folded, and drove an fist into the back of his neck. Jiazheng crumpled to the ground, still gasping for air, and rolled backward to his feet. 

"Are you still awake?" Andy asked politely. 

Jiazheng buried a single, well-aimed fist into the ninja's face. It was a full body swing, starting somewhere near the deserts of Aveh, travelling through space and time, shutting off the lights of a pipe-wielding drunkard in the seamy Tokyo underworld. Powered by Jiazheng's internal strength, it was a powerful indeed, with a _much_ higher magnitude even when compared to the Requiem Punch. The entire earth seemed to shake from the colossus impact.

Alas, the lights merely flickered, and power remained up. Andy wasn't a wuss. He hit right back, basically making graffiti out of Jiazheng's torso in a solid body blow that stretched it in a way that might have popped a lesser man's spine out through his back, and onto the ring surface. 

But Jiazheng didn't seem to feel it, and he seemed to revert back to normal disturbingly quick. He smiled. 

Andy also smiled. 

And ate another fist. 

From here, it was pretty fucking brutal. And this was round one.

The ring, being a replica of the Roman Coliseum, had plenty of space for the two fighters to go at it. They took full advantage, running 'round the arena like it was going out of style, appearing now and then as they bestowed fierce blows at an indiscriminate pace. 

Both their Strikers and the cameras couldn't keep up with the rapid-fire strafing volley, heads turning back and forth in vain to keep up with the action. All they could see were ghost-images, left behind in the wake, perfect freeze-frames of the violence that was continuing.

Andy and Jiazheng traded hits at a rabid pace, neither one landing anything solid after the earthshaking opening seconds. Suddenly both fighters landed punches on the other's face at the EXACT SAME TIME and Chan nearly believed it was over, what with the blank look they both had. But they suddenly fired off a kick to the other's head, and they went spiraling out of control towards the ring surface, recovering into a fighting stance.

********************

           Seated in the stands, Ryan winced in sympathetic pain.

"Ouch…That really must've hurt. Looks like Jiazheng's doing quite well."

"Weird…But he hasn't even bothered to draw his weapon yet. Doesn't make sense, does it?"

Indeed, Jiazheng was fighting bare-handed, his face a mask of fury and blood. His strikes landed more often on air than Andy, as he flailed blindly at his moving opponent. Like some grim titan of war, sheer willpower kept him on his feet, but only just.

"That dumbass is _losing_, you know. Andy is kicking his ass. Can we do anything about it?"

"Nope. All four of us are fighting, so as to give us the best chance of beating the Fatal Fury guys. So nope, no Strikers."

Andro shook his head, leaning back against his seat.

"I still say that he's going to lose, guys."

"Wanna make a bet?"

"Five dollars?"

"Twenty."

"You're on."

********************

Andy and Jiazheng fought on, neither able to gain a clear advantage over the other.

Andy a trained ninja, far, far better at hand-to-hand than Jiazheng would ever be. However, every time he thought he had the swordsman dead to rights, the strike hit air, or struck Jiazheng's block with a heavy impact. He knew Jiazheng was an amateur, with only a fair amount of talent, but his sheer speed and focus countered everything Andy tried. 

Admittedly, Jiazheng had his hands full defending against Andy, but his complete inability to score any kind of hit was starting to frustrate the hell out of him, especially against an opponent he knew was a lesser fighter than he was. 

After a while, Andy abruptly changed tactics... and stopped attacking. He simply shifted to a ready stance, dropped his guard, and stood there, with his eyes fixed on Jiazheng.

The boy was instantly wary, but after ten seconds or so of eerie stillness on Andy's part, he mentally shrugged and dashed toward him. Jiazheng feinted right, rolled left, and let loose with a kick that nearly broke the sound barrier. 

Andy knocked aside his foot, as casually as if he was swatting a fly. Same for the next one. And the one after that.

Jiazheng hopped back and shook his head, trying to draw on the inner calm that stayed just out of his reach. He reached back, and drew his scabbard, slipping it into his right hand. The thing seemed to burst into green flame, forming a long, blazing cudgel of emerald force.

"EMERALD WAVE!!!"

He slammed the weapon onto the ground, flinging a wall of fire forward, in his Emerald Splash-ripoff. Andy saw it coming a mile away, and took appropriate steps to counter it.

"HISHOKEN!!"

Andy expected to neutralize the wave, condemning both projectiles to oblivion. He was disconcerted, not to mention disorientated, when it exploded in his face. Cursing, he rolled away, intending to avoid the attack that was obviously coming…

Nothing. 

He spun around, wondering where his opponent had gone. Still, there was nothing. Jiazheng seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

"BLAZING STRIKEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The ground exploded, mere feet away from Andy's face. Swearing at the top of his voice, Jiazheng crashed to the ground, just in front of Andy. His finishing attack had whiffed, destroying his last chances of defeating Andy. What with the pathetic recovery time and all, Jiazheng knew it was over. It was just a matter of who got to beat the living hell out of him.

So, when Blue Mary grabbed him in the M. Spider, and Joe Higashi followed up with the Strongest Low Kick In History, he didn't even bother to struggle, resigned to his fate.

"CHOU REPPA DAN!!!"

Jiazheng was unconscious before he hit the ground.

********************

"I won. Now pay up."

Grumbling, Chan dug into his wallet, peeling off two twenty-dollar bills. He glared at Andro accusingly, as if it was his fault in some way or the other.

"How 'bout a new bet? On myself this time?"

"No."

"Aww…C'mon, man!"

"No."

"Chan, it's your turn now. Move it."

"We'll continue this later." 

********************

Chan stepped into the arena, his Mage Cannon out and ready. His plan for the battle was to send Requiem out, hide behind it, and blast away at a distance with his superior weapon. Sure, it was cheap, but who cared? He was taking absolutely no chances with Andy Bogard, one of the most famous fighters in the world. 

It was a passably good strategy, one that had served him many, many times in the past. Even as Chan assumed his casting position, he had complete confidence in himself. 

There was only one problem.

Andy was too fast to contain.

The moment the match began, Andy performed the same dashing elbow he'd used on Jiazheng, sending Chan down to the mat. The boy coughed, and rolled to his feet…

"CHORETSUHADAN!"

No sooner had Chan got up than he was knocked down again.

"SHORYUDAN!"

Chan stood up and was once again knocked down.

Frustrated, he fired a Mage Cannon round into Andy's leg, knocking the man away from him. 

"REQUIEM…PUNCH!!!"

The massive fist slammed Andy into the far wall, pinning him there for several seconds, allowing Chan to FINALLY get up. He leveled the Mage Cannon at Andy, something eerily like hatred burning in his eyes. For his own part, the ninja didn't seem to care at all, his face retaining a confident smirk.

Andy snarled, and charged, intending to close in and end the battle fast.

Requiem was all too happy to oblige, meeting the assault with all the speed and ferocity of a horde of rabid flying squirrels. Chan ran close behind, blasting away. Bullets whistled right past Requiem, almost striking Andy, even as he ducked and wove to evade them. One…Two…Three…Four…OW!

The last bullet punched a neat hole in Andy's shoulder, spinning him back the way he came.

Chan advanced, reloading even as he did.

"It's time to finish this. OMEGA…"

            Realizing what was coming, Andy went with his instincts, and prepared to roll out of the way. If he'd been looking carefully, he would've noticed Requiem's hands fixed firmly around his legs, effectively immobilizing him. However, as he wasn't he didn't even realize the problem, till a ray of blue force slammed into him, pinning him to the wall. 

The next thing Andy knew, he was on the floor, feeling like he'd been kicked by an elephant. He twitched once, struggling to get up…Then was still, as Chan fired a warning shot right next to his head.

"WINNER IS…CHAN!!!!"

Ignoring the roars of "CHEAPASS!!!!" from the crowd, Chan simply bowed, grinned, and began to laugh.

********************

Terry Bogard vaulted from the stands, carefully sizing up his opponent as he did. It was not that he was afraid: There was utterly no reason for him to be afraid. He just wanted to take a measure of his opponent.

Chan looked like just another teenager to Terry Bogard, albeit one armed with a rather large handgun, and dressed in a unique-looking coat. Still, the seriously far-out monster behind him was an obvious testament to his potential deadliness. 

Both combatants bowed to one another, in the time-honored tradition of utter worthlessness. Somewhere in the background, "See You Space Cowboy" blared at maximum volume, with no other effect than to make five thousand screaming fans shut the hell up and listen. Good song.

"FIGHT!!!"

The moment the command sounded, both contestants stopped listening to the music, and began to hit the other really, really hard.

"BURN KNUCKLE!!!"

"REQUIEM PUNCH!!!!"

Terry's fist connected with Chan's, in an incredible explosion of force. The student fell back, tumbling head-over-heels to skid into the much-abused wall. He got up, shaking his hand.

That had HURT! Dimly, he wondered whether his hand was broken. Requiem's hand had cracked from the sheer impact, the armor on the limb crushed beyond repair. Clumsily, Chan fired off a poorly-aimed round with the Mage Cannon, forcing Terry back. 

Disconcertingly, the man seemed to be completely unaffected, merely taking several steps closer. 

"Nice move, rookie! It's time for me to get serious."

Terry continued stalking Chan, completely at ease and in his element. He was calm and controlled, with every move taking him closer and closer.

"POWER WAVE!"

A wave of flame burst from the floor, and roared towards the Stand-wielder. Requiem shifted into the way in time, taking the hit. It lumbered forward, preparing to close…

"CRACK SHOT!!"

…Unfortunately, Requiem couldn't be in two places at once. Terry's hopping kick took him dangerously close to Chan, missing him by a narrow margin. Cursing, Chan aimed a kick at Terry's head, which was easily parried. 

"POWERoof!"

Chan managed to follow up with a quick, short-ranged jab, gaining him some time to evade. Grimly, he called Requiem back, and prepared for a _long battle of attrition._

********************

"Hey! Chan's holding Terry off!"

Ryan couldn't believe it. By a combination of cheapness, skill, and dumb luck, Chan was barely holding his own against Terry Bogard. 

The match had been going on for almost two minutes, with very little ground being gained either way. Chan seemed content to play the waiting game while occasionally applying pressure to Terry, by Mage Cannon fire and the occasional Stand attack. Terry, for his part, was able to effectively nullify the bullets, but due to the younger man's proficiency with them, he was so far unable to effectively retaliate with his own power wave.

All-in-all, things were going well.

Andro was watching the battle intently, taking in each and every move Terry made. He could see that the Lone Wolf was indeed living up to his reputation, in a spectacular display of skill that would have been the bane of any man. However…He had only one problem. 

Terry couldn't get in close.

Every time he tried, Chan would punish him with a point-blank round, retreating behind Requiem to reload. Overhead attacks were met by the Flintlock Dragon, a Dragon Punch ripoff. Low strikes were easily teleported away from, and projectiles were annihilated the moment they left the fighter's hand. To be fair, Chan wasn't doing much damage, but he was more comfortable with these kind of slow, controlled bouts.

Andro shook his head in disappointment. He had expected more of his friend, anticipating some dramatic display of force, or another attempt at stopping time. Instead, Chan seemed at his worse today, relying too much on his Stand for defense. Still, he would watch how this played out.

The ever-patient assassin settled back into his seat, and continued to observe.

********************

"So you beat Andy," Terry noted during a lull in the fighting.

"He's a pretty tough dude. You must've been pretty good to overcome him."

Chan fired off another Mage Cannon round, which was once again neutralized by the Power Wave. He followed up with the World-Eater Bite, which Terry easily hopped over.

"Thank my friend for that. I'm just the cleanup hitter."

"Ah."

Terry suddenly dashed in Chan's direction, rolling around Requiem, and coming straight up in an attack. 

"CRACK-"

"FLINTLOCK DRAGON!!!"

Chan took off in a vertical Dragon Punch, intending to knock his opponent out of the axe kick that would soon follow. Relying on his intuition, he guessed that Terry would go for the famous overhead leaping kick. 

He guessed wrong.

Yes, Terry _did yell 'Crack Shot', but he only faked the leap, simply hopping forward a foot or two, even as Chan rose into the air. The boy realized just how screwed he was, even before Terry's fist hit the ground._

"Oh, shit."

"POW-AH GEYSER!!!"

A massive gout of flame billowed from the earth, clawing Chan from the sky. He landed hard, but he managed to regain his feet. It didn't matter much, because Terry hadn't wasted any time gloating over the successful high-angle geyser. Instead, he'd raced to where Chan stood, and proceeded to pummel him in the face. 

Chan, while capable of winning a strategic duel of finesse, simply wasn't cut out for a brawl, which Terry felt most comfortable in. 

"And a generous helping of…BOOT TO DA HEAD!!"

A few hard strikes later, Chan ended up on the ground, unconscious.

********************

Ryan was next up, leaping in soon after his friend was carted out. He assumed his fighting stance with classic flair, warming up with a few leg stretches and a series of shadow punches.

"Let's rumble, dude!"

Terry nodded, advancing slowly but surely, hands in constant motion right in front of him. Ryan hopped from one foot to another, never completely still. He began to back away slightly, intent on putting as much distance between himself and the dangerous fighter as possible.

"WAVE CANNON!"

Ryan fired off a blast of water, intending to test out his opponent's defense. 

Terry neatly sidestepped, and returned to his original position. His expression never changed. 

Something told Ryan that he was in serious trouble. 

Looking behind him, he saw the wall begin to get closer and closer. With nowhere else to run, Ryan began to cautiously advance, calling upon the forces of water to aid him. As far as the audience was concerned, Ryan simply acquired a swirly aura of water around his fists, with a faint shimmering in the air as he strode forward into combat.

They exchanged dozens of blows in the first few seconds, hammering away with fists and feet. From the start, it was evident that Ryan had an advantage. His first few punches were easily deflected, but the ones that followed began to impact on Terry, one after another

Terry normally would've won, but his battle with Chan had worn him out, and his minor injuries were beginning to catch up with him. Add that to Ryan's superior speed, and rapid-fire blitz assault, and that meant that the battle was far more even than Terry would've liked.

Ryan, harassing Terry with rapid spinning kicks, didn't let up for a moment. The Lone Wolf was falling back under the volley, blocking slower and slower with each strike. Ryan actually had a moment to think that he was about to win-

-When a buff individual wearing a headband leapt in, yelled, and kicked him in the shins. Hard.

The boy toppled, suddenly tripping over his own feet. With a quick nod to Joe Higashi, Terry leapt in, preparing a Power Dunk that would Ryan in a crater on the ground.

He was met by an off-the-floor Electronic Revolution uppercut, that neatly sent him back to the ground none-too-softly, as well as a version of Andro's Spike Slam that slammed him into the concrete. Ryan backflipped three times, striking a flashy stance as he landed.

"It'll take more than cheap shots to keep me down! ELECTRONIC REVOLUTION!!!"

For the life of him, Terry couldn't see the use in it. The Electronic Revolution was an uppercut, right? And uppercuts only worked when someone was close in, didn't they?

Thus, he was completely surprised when Ryan shot forward in…A Dragon Punch? A VERTICAL Dragon Punch? Did every kid have one or something? That train of thought was rudely interrupted, as Terry received five electric punches to the stomach, followed by a slamming kick for the knockdown.

Just barely conscious, Terry rolled away once more, going for his ultimate move…

"TRIPLE POW-AH GEYSER!!"

Ryan went flying, slamming into the far wall with a bone-jarring impact. He got to one knee and opened fire, cutting loose with orbs of water, crackling bolts of lightning, and the occasional wave of electricity. The barrage ended up doing more damage to the surroundings than anything else, blowing large, gaping holes in the floor and wall. 

"DAMN YOU! JUST _DIE_!!!"

Unfortunately for Ryan, dying wasn't on Terry Bogard's schedule today. He took Ryan out with a quick shoulder-charge and a High-Angle Geyser, emerging from the scuffle bloodied but unbowed. Ryan ended up like his friends: Namely, face-first on the hard floor.

********************

Andro chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. ALL of his teammates had gotten themselves knocked out.

Who would believe it?

"Well, looks like it's up to me."

He strode down into the arena without any of the posing the others had done, intent on finishing the battle as soon as he could. Far below, Terry Bogard rubbed his many bruises, summoning up enough energy for what would be his last fight for the day. The man managed to point defiantly in Andro's direction, evoking brief cheers from the audience.

Andro ignored it all. His blades glittered in the sunlight, razor-sharp and mirror-bright. He didn't bother to poison them, figuring that he wouldn't be needing it.

The two fighters faced off, prepared for the final clash. Terry was bruised and battered, barely remaining on his feet. Andro was completely unharmed, and ready for the fight. 

From the moment the fight command sounded, the outcome was never in doubt.

They closed at first, in the standard opening flurry of swipes and kicks. Here, Terry ended up at a serious disadvantage, as every strike, whether blocked or not, drew blood. He managed to hit Andro too, getting in several good blows. However, the assassin simply bulled through them, eating several kicks and a surprise Burn Knuckle, but punishing Terry with repeated slashes.

Trading blows like this would only have one outcome, and Bogard knew what his foe was looking for. He had to switch up, and try to get some distance. Feinting a kick, Terry went for the Power Dunk, intending to follow-up by jumping back and shooting his foe down with Power Waves.

Andro dodged, and grabbed the exhausted Terry. After a brief spin, he finished the match with a Spike Slam. Still gripping the man's body, he prepared to slam him into the floor again, if he so much as twitched…

But Terry didn't. He was out for the count.

The audience began to cheer their new hero on, flinging coins, flowers, flags into the ring. Despite his earlier cynicism, Andro raised his arms, soaking in the adulation. 

It was one of the few things he had left.

********************

Somewhere else…

            A figure sat in the gloom, mad eyes fixed on the softly glowing monitor screen right in front of it. It spoke, barely controlled rage in its voice.

            "The fatal fury team. They defeated the FATAL FURY TEAM!!"

            White light flared in the chamber, highlighting the only two people inside. The other person was crouched at the foot of the throne, head bowed in obeisance.            

            "Calm yourself, exalted leader. This is just a minor setback. They have no way of getting far enough to harm us."

            "Zero thought the same thing too."

            There was complete and utter silence, as both men considered the fate of that particular agent.

            "Zero was a fool. I do not intend to become like him."

            "Yes, great leader."

            "Kill them."       

            "We cannot."

            Bolts of force flickered and strobed in the room, filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh. There was a brief scream of agony, quickly forced down and controlled.                                                                                                               

            The first voice returned. If anything, it was even more furious than before.                      

            "I said to kill them. I will NOT tolerate disobedience."                           

            There was no answer, as the other man twitched once and was still.       

            The leader of NESTS looked away from the corpse, quickly losing interest. The living were so much more useful than the dead. He pressed a button next to his chair, opening a direct line to the laboratory.                                                        

            "Dispatch the clones to Tokyo, Japan, where the DHS team is currently staying. You know which ones."                       

For a brief moment, there was only the hiss of static on the other side of the line.                                                            

            "Yes, exalted one. But I would like to mention that they are merely at three-quarters combat strength. Might I suggest…"

            "Just do it."                                                                                                                                                                   

            He cut the line.                                                                                                                                                              

            Normally, a simple extermination squad would have done the trick, but most of the Cartel's military strength was currently tied up in hunting down the Hero, Esaka and Yagami teams, respectively. Only his personal bodyguard was at the base, rendering him far too vulnerable for his liking…                                                                                                                                         

            His arm came down hard on the armrest, smashing it to smithereens.                                                                  

This would soon be remedied.                                                                                                                           

            Calming himself, Ignis took a deep breath, sinking back into his chair once more. Patience. All his pawns were still on the board, and it was only a matter of time before they brought him what they wanted.                                                                       

            The destruction of the DHS team would simply be a footnote, a microscopic detail in the greater scheme of things. It would be perfectly executed, a miracle of planning and genius.

            As it should be. There would be nothing else that Ignis would expect. 

(Whew. The Fatal Fury Team's battle is done. The strange thing is, I wrote this chapter in _two days, _after I lost the first version when my computer crashed. I know it's a bit rough, and sorry for the long wait. The next chapter will be up as fast as I can write it. My parents won't give me internet access….Sigh…)

**Author's Note: By the way, PAUOLO or whatever your gayfaggotty name is, don't do that again, you sorry asshole. I don't mind constructive criticism, but that was a little too much. If I see you here again, I'll hunt you down, and flame you till you're the shitty pile of ash you deserve to be. Same goes for anything you may write or anything you've written. Understand me? Now get out of my sight.**


	5. Send In The Clones

**Chapter 5: Send In The Clones**

            The subjects of Ignis's 'miracle of planning and genius' were back in their room room, nursing their wounds and generally complaining about their lot.

            "Ugh…The bastard kicked me through a _wall._"

            Jiazheng struggled to sit up, wincing at his cracked ribs. He soon gave up, falling back onto the couch in a depressed heap. Ryan looked up from bandaging his own hands, to give the swordsman a pitying smile.

            "Relax, man. This kind of thing happens _all _the time."

            "Really?"

            "Uh…No."

            Chan dug out a couple more chips from the bag next to him, fumbling awkwardly with his scorched fingers. He looked as though he'd been out in the sun for way too long, the only side-effect of the Power Geyser.

            "To tell you the truth, Jiazheng, you only went into the wall. Not through."

            Andro, leaning against the wall as always, couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. Truly, they were totally inferior to him in every possible way.

            "Man. You guys suck."

            Three pairs of eyes glared at him.

            "Say that again, Andro."

            "You…Guys…Suck. Heard me? Just one fight, and everyone's out for the count."

            "Uh…I don't like where this is going…"

            Jiazheng scooted away from the two, intent on placing as much distance as possible between himself and the coming storm. Ryan, on the other hand, didn't give a damn. He continued his bandaging.

            "Chan, Andro, shut up. I'm trying to patch myself up here."

            No one was listening.

            "Remind me again. Who had to have his stomach pumped, after meeting Claire?"

            "Who ended up burning and unconscious?"

            "You'll eat those words…"

            "I said, shut up. You're too damn loud."

            "Make me. And there's only one way I'll listen."

            "Bring it on, hero-boy! MAGE-"

            "Wave Cannon."

            Ryan promptly blew the weapon from Chan's hand with a well-aimed burst of water, sending it clattering to the floor. Chan glared at Ryan, and looked like he was about to say something…Till he noticed the second blast already prepared.

            "You two…Stop bullshitting each other. We won, okay? I want to unwind, not listen to this. So shut up."

            Silence.

            "I thought that was my line."

            "Want to argue about that?"

            Going by the fact that one never argued with a armed man, Chan gulped and nodded. Andro simply shrugged, and seemed to fade back into the shadows.

            "I'll concede the point."

            "Good boy. Now go get your gun."

  
****************

Four Days Later…

"Bullseye." 

Thunk. 

"Bullseye." 

Thunk. 

"Dartboard's full." 

Thunk. 

A miniature knife struck the end of another, and stuck there, quivering. 

"Now that's just showing off." 

"If you got it, use it." Andro drew his arm back and tossed another blade, with similar results. Across the room, Chan went back to his novel, trying to read in peace. Jiazheng was busy slashing the hell out of a punching bag in the next room, training again and again.

As one could imagine, the noise level was incredible.

The DHS Team had kept a low profile these two days, spending most of their time trying to recover for the next battle, on a single week away. This meant that Andro was getting a lot of dart practice. 

Unfortunately, he had mastered darts, and moved on to shurikens, which he'd mastered in turn. That morning, with great pomp and circumstance, he'd brought in his knives, which Chan considered a dangerous sign. At the rate he was going, there'd be a ballista on top of his desk first thing the next Monday. 

"Knock, knock," Ryan said, walking in. A knife promptly struck the wall next to his head. To his credit, Ryan didn't flinch *too* obviously. 

"Yo, Ryan. Anything new?"

"Nah…But I heard they're showcasing the Playstation2 at one of the nearby malls. Just wondering if anyone was interested…"

A second knife stuck in the wall, uncomfortably close.

"I'll take that as a 'no' from Andro. Jiazheng?"

"CONCUSSION!!!"

The punching bag exploded, as Jiazheng leveled an incredibly powerful explosive strike at it. Feathers ended up flying everywhere, covering every surface in a layer of white down.

With a _snap, Chan shut his book, and reached for the Mage Cannon. _

"That does it." 

"Chan?"

"Why not? It'll be safer than this place, at least."

****************

Later, Tokyo Train System…

            The train was packed with the standard rush-hour crowd, with almost every carriage filled with a huge horde of humanity.

            Grandmas, yuppies, students…They all seemed to merge into an amphorous mass of people, that consumed everything in its wake, leaving only waste behind. Chan and Ryan barely managed to squeeze into the train, applying a few elbows to nearby ribs as they did. 

            "How many stops was it again, Ryan?"

            "Ten. Hope you brought something to read."

            "…Come to think of it, I didn't."

            "We're in for a damn long trip, then."

            Indeed, it was. Fortunately, the crowd cleared out somewhere around the fifth stop, giving the boys more space. By that time, Chan's feet were aching.

            "God, I'll _kill for somewhere to sit…"_

            At that moment, a space cleared on one of the nearby seats, as one of the commuters stood up, turned, and walked away. A floppy hat was pulled down over his head, obscuring much of his features.

            "Thanks, man. Ryan! We got a seat!"

            With unseemly haste, both boys shoved each other, briefly fought over the space, and finally agreed to share the space.

            "Whew…That's much better."

            "Thank the man, Ryan."

            "You do that..."

            That was when Ryan's danger sense went crazy, as the entire world seemed to slow all around him. Far away, the commuter reached into his jacket, and drew…

            A gun. 

            He was going to kill them. 

            _BANNGGGGG!!!!_

            "CHAN! GET DOWN!"

            He kicked his friend in the side, sending him sprawling to the floor. The bullet meant for Chan struck an old man in the throat, raising a spray of sudden blood into the air.

            Sudden silence, as everyone tried to decide what to do.

            All eyes were fixed onto the unfortunate passenger, as he choked, as though a piece of food was stuck in his windpipe. Those around him, even those spattered with flying blood, weren't frightened-Yet. 

It was too soon for that. Most were simply shocked.

            A child screamed.

            Then panic gripped the room.    

            "THEY'RE SHOOTING!!!"

            "HE'S GOT A GUN! HE'S GOT A GUN!"

            "WHO?"

            Ryan ducked down behind his seat, cautiously peeking up. Chan had the sense to dodge back into the opposite row for cover, wondering what in hell was going on. Their mysterious assailant was already walking away down the carriage, shoving people out of the way as he did. The gun he still held in his right hand served as a major inducement not to mess with him.

            Chan drew the Mage Cannon, drawing a bead on his target as others got out of the way. He aimed…

            …And ducked back, as more rounds ricocheted all around him. Several punched holes through the window, coming uncomfortably close. One blew a hole in his flapping coat, shredding the fabric even more.                     

            Hey! He _liked that coat!_

            "Shoot him! Shoot him!"

            "I can't **_see _him! Clear the air, Ryan!"**

            "Oh, I'll clear the air all right. How 'bout some of THIS! STORM OF VENE…"

            Watching Ryan's eyes begin to glow and spark, Chan gave him a shove, disrupting his concentration.

            "Are you crazy? You could blow up the entire damn train!"

            "So?"

            "There are _other people here, man. Besides, there's no way we can-"_

            ***BLAMBLAMBLAM***

            Right in front of Chan and Ryan, the seating exploded, blowing out the lights, and tossing metal shrapnel into the air. Glass rained down, slicing into skin and flesh. Lacerated with minor cuts, Ryan began to curse. Apparently, their opponent had found some more ammunition.

            Who the hell could do this? WHAT were they up against?

            "Chan, we'll hit him on the count of three. I'll fire lightning, you use that Cannon, okay? Now…"

            "THREE!!!"

            Both boys stood up, and opened fire, blasting away at the cloaked figure, who was still maintaining a slow retreat from the two. A massive cloud of smoke went up, as the projectiles promptly carved massive holes in what remained in the carriage. Chan and Ryan hit the deck again, waiting for the retaliation…

            Sudden calm.

            "Think we got him?"

            "You wanna check?"

            "Hell, NO!"

            Slowly, Chan leaned out to the side, trying to make out his target in smoke. 

            ***BANGBANGBANGBANG_click_***

            Four bullets punched a neat line just overhead, sending the Stand-wielder dodging back in cover. Now that was too damn close for comfort.

            "Got your answer?"

            "But he's reloading! We have him now!"

            Ryan vaulted the seating, nimbly clearing the first row. He dove into the aisle, and vanished from view completely, as he tried to tackle the still-reloading gunman. Chan got up, with a defiant two-handed grip on the Magnum, even as the sounds of a struggle began to come from somewhere inside the smoke.

****************

            Ryan tackled the gunman, sending them both to the ground. He promptly slugged the man once in the face, feeling a savage satisfaction at the sound of cracking bone. He punched again, even harder this time. 

            There was no response from his opponent, as if all the fight had just been knocked from him. Taking no chances, Ryan grabbed the man by the coat's lapels, hauling him up. Now to see who the bastard was…

            _Snick._

            Ryan fell to the floor, gasping, as all his strength seemed to leave him. The icy pain of razor-sharp blades bit into his sides, as the stranger's hands suddenly sharpened. Gasping, Ryan twitched once, struggled to stand, and failed. All he could see was a pair of black boots, coming closer, closer…

            Everything went black.

****************

            Then, there was a decisive _thunk_, and a groan of pain

A voice. 

            "Ha…Dumbass."

            Okay. That wasn't Ryan. Well, whoever it was, he would soon be getting an unhealthy dose of radiation. Chan fired, sending a fireball plowing right through the centre of the fog. 

            The bullet came right back. Chan's eyes widened, as the blast of energy tore right back out, flying STRAIGHT TOWARDS HIM! 

            Fortunately, he dodged in time, letting it blow out a window rather than his brains. Bullshit…Chan hated being the guy on the front line. What the hell was Ryan doing?

            Requiem slid in front of him, shield raised to form a wall of steel. The crowd had cleared out, which was good. It never paid to have innocent bystanders at a gunfight. Chan let off another round, and this time was rewarded with a grunt of pain, followed by quickly receding footsteps. 

            A freak wind sprang up, removing some of the blasted smoke. Now finally, he could see-

            -He could see Ryan's crumbled, bleeding form, lying sprawled on the ground. He could see, with perfect clarity, the gunman, weapon already drawn and aimed. And Chan could see, at the other end of the gun, his own face.        

            "Who…Who ARE you?"

            "I'm you."

*************

Back At The Hotel…

            "YAAAAAHHHHHHHOof-"

            Thud. 

            Jiazheng hit the floor of the gym, his scabbard flying from his hands. Andro shook his head, and reached out a hand to help Jiazheng up. 

            "Nice evasion, Jiazheng. But you're just not fast enough."

            "Ugh…Can we stop now? I hurt _everywhere_."

            "I'm trying to teach you how to win a fight, swordsman. Stand up."

            Sighing, Jiazheng got back up, and went over to retrieve his scabbard. Weapon practice with Andro was a bad idea. Sure, the other man wasn't using his blades much, relying more upon his fists to make a point. But Andro wasn't holding back, making sure to strike Jiazheng with all his strength, every time he made a mistake.             

            The gym was deserted. Not many people even bothered to come in here anymore, preferring instead to take in the various sights and sounds of the city. And that was a good thing too. If anyone had been watching Andro and Jiazheng spar, they'd probably have called security.

            "Okay, Andro. Just one more time, okay?"

            _Thunk__.___

            Jiazheng froze in place, his hands inches from his weapon. Right in front of him, an expertly thrown knife was embedded in the floor, still quivering.

            "Are you trying ta kill me? That wasn't funn…Uh-oh."

            The words died in his throat. 

            Andro hadn't moved at all. At least, the one he'd been sparring with hadn't. The man's attention was totally fixed upon the new arrival to the room, who had just walked right in.

            He was a tall, slender man...Wearing a mirrored visor. With blades strapped to his forearms. And with a face just like Andro's.

            For the first time in his life, almost face-to-face with himself, Alistair Andrew Gill was confused, and not a little disturbed.

            "Jiazheng, I think we're going to have…Problems."

(Well, this chapter gonna be split into two parts, due to it's length. I'm already working on Part II, and it'll be a _long _one. As always, any suggestions and reviews are welcome, and feel free to e-mail me.)


	6. The Plot Thickens

**Chapter 6: The Plot Thickens**

            Throughout the entire world, amongst the many, many different people and places, it is truly impossible to find anyone would who look EXACTLY like you. Oh, there might be a few similarities here and there, but, (identical twins aside) ultimately, each and every individual is unique.                                                                           At least, that's what Chan has believed for most of his life. 

            Now, facing down himself in a half-ruined train, Chan is in for a nasty shock.

************

            "Say again?"

            "I said, I'm YOU."

            Both Chans faced each other down, guns aimed and ready. Eyes fixed upon the face, searching for the miniscule tightening that signified intent to fire. 

            Neither one dared to move. There was no way anyone could miss at this range. 

            A standoff, then. 

            Lying on the ground, Ryan twitched weakly, and tried to sit up. His wounds weren't deep, but they certainly hurt like hell. He wouldn't be joining _this battle anytime soon._

            The _real Chan tightened his grip on the Mage Cannon, sweaty palms slipping slightly on the smooth handle. _

            "You have a serious identity crisis, then. Nice plastic surgery, though. You actually _look like me. Too bad I'm gonna ruin it."_

            He adjusted his aim, shifting the barrel of the gun to his opponent's head. For some reason, the other man showed an incredible amount of courage, not flinching in the slightest.

            "What's your name, imposter? So I'll know who you _were_."

            "They call me…Burnout."

            Silence. 

            Chan's face began to purple with rage, as he realized what had just happened. Not only did NESTS have the gall to send another assassin after him…They had just stolen his cool schtick!

            "You…STUPID…bastard…You STOLE my nickname! NO ONE DOES THAT AND LIVES, DAMNIT!"

            It was a mistake, right up to the very moment he pulled the trigger. The Mage Cannon bucked in Chan's hands, blasting forth a massive sphere of flames. It impacted with all the force of an avalanche, sending his clothes whipping in the sudden breeze.

            When it cleared, Burnout (Yep, he had the gall to use that name) stood in the centre of a perfectly cleared circle, not a single hair out of place. He grinned, favoring Chan with a wintry smile. 

            "My, my. Fling-flang-floom, and I'm still here. Maybe you're not as good as I thought, Chan. Wanna try again?"

            Chan stared at his Mage Cannon, as if he could find the answer there. 

            "Hey! What gives?"

            He was beginning to realize the amount of shit he was in. But hey… There were only a few other things Chan could do.

            Like…

            "REQUIEM…PUNCH!!!"

            Nothing.

            Even as Burnout's retaliatory gunfire ripped through the seating, Chan silently cursed Requiem's name as he dove for cover. One-handedly, he tossed a ravening bolt of force right down the aisle, kicking up yet another shower of debris. 

            "Thought you killed me? THIS is how you throw force bolts! "

            TWO bolts of power blasted back his way, twice as large as Chan's own. Just barely, he deflected them, blowing out the little left of the glass.

            This was going to be a _long _day. 

**********

Somewhere else in Tokyo, at a certain hotel…

_SHINK-KLAAAAAAAAAAANG_

            Jiazheng fell back, numb hands clasped round his ringing scabbard. He desperately tried to make sense of the insane and rapidly evolving situation unfolding around him.

            The second Andro hadn't even bothered to speak. He charged the original, the two strange blades on his arm whirring at the speed of a blender. Stick-thin and clad in shiny black leather, the man's constant grin was a perpetual consequence of the way the colorless skin of his face was pinned back around his skull. 

            Andro had seemed totally and utterly enraged by the mockery of his form. He met his clone's attack face on, not even bothering to dodge. Even now, they fought on, the sound of blade-on-blade merging into a single whirring tone.

             Twice, Jiazheng had tried to intervene. Twice, he had to throw himself away, trying to dodge the vicious spinning blades. He was so out of his level it wasn't even funny.

            The real Andro rolled back from a particularly nasty swipe, palming a knife from the air like a juggler. He snatched and flung again and again, pumping out a seemingly endless stream of sharp metal. 

            His foe performed a blurred backdash, shifting right out of the way. Trailing shadows followed his wake, vanishing in the blink of an eye. Jiazheng sliced at him, flinging blast after blast of emerald destruction. Somehow, the man evaded, his physical speed unbelievable.

            Jiazheng swung again, placing two perfect kill strokes that somehow missed altogether. The not-Andro sent him lurching away in a spray of his own blood….Right before the original's foot intersected with his spine, with a nasty popping noise.

            Twisting like a cat, the duplicate somehow managed to land on his feet, shoved away from the bleeding swordsman. He hissed once, and ran straight back in to attack. Andro was only too happy to oblige.

            It was a shame that there wasn't anyone watching, because the next seven minutes were an unparalleled display of swordfighting. Steel rang on steel several times in one second, hissing through the air fast enough to cleave atoms, and Andro brought all his skill, and his duplicate all his speed to bear on the fight. Each drew blood several times, but their adrenalin and will blotted out all but the most fleeting sense of pain.     Finally, both men paused for a moment, and the light from the street below almost seemed to dim. Andro attacked first, as both arms blurred into black and silver flashes, like his usual attacks seen through a rain-streaked window. At the same time, the other man took one step back, and held his weapons low, just before it began to spin around between both hands. 

**            "FINAL SHOWDOWN!"**

            **_"RAZOR ASSAULT!"_****__**

            Blade after blade tore past Andro, neatly deflected by the impenetrable wall steel right in front of him. He tore straight into the clone at top speed, hacking and slashing in a blur of motion. Coldly and methodically, he proceeded to break or hyperextend every major joint in his body with his knives, ending with a final spinning double-slash, right through that pathetic copy of his own face.

            Even with a slash running right through his face, the duplicate continued to move, like some grim colossus of destruction, intent on taking his foe down with him. Wearing the terrible wounds that Andro had inflicted like medals, he continued to advance.

            With a sound like snapping twigs, the broken neck made a sound like snapping twigs, as he-No, it- slowly turned its lolling head to glare at Andro.

            "Nice…try…" the slack head gurgled.

            The black leather coat was gone, sliced to pieces by Andro's blades. The wiry, perfectly proportioned frame was strung with chains, padlocks and bindings, giving the thing the horrible impression of being stitched together. 

            "Your strikes…hurt…But are…no stronger than the weapons…you should learn to…Make your weapons sounder…Next time…"

            "…Not that there will be a next time…" it added.

            Andro smiled, a thin, feral grin that never reached his eyes.

            "There won't. ARMY OF ONE!!!"

            The result was a severe beating in the best Custom Combo tradition. Andro got lost in the charging horde somewhere along the way, allowing the occasional duplicate to get in a slash or stab instead.

            By itself, the Final Showdown is an awesome move, one of Andro's signature favorites. This devastating maneuver is often used as his finisher, for good reason. 

            Compared to what followed, it was a lovetap.               

            The clone was bounced off the hard floor after being released, and was returned to the air by an Aerial Slicer. He was then cleanly volleyed by running and then stationary Dragon Punch-ripoffs, before being spiked back to earth by a hail of Shadow Edges from above. 

The thing knew it was through, when the force of a triple Blitz Kick pushed him into the wall, and the shower of razor-sharp knives pinned him there like a butterfly. He actually believed/hoped it was over when the multitude of Wu Shu kicks started landing on every point of his battered frame in alphabetical order, but was still barely conscious, though severely stunned, for the final "Ha-TA!"

            Exhausted, the real Andro sank to his knees in the suddenly-deserted room. The only other occupant was the unconscious Jiazheng, and a dripping, bleeding mass that would barely be classified as human.

            Very slowly, wincing at the crippling fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him, he staggered to his feet, and began to walk, step by painful step, towards the gory remains. This time, Andro wasn't going to take any chances.

***********

This... was the life of Ryan Lim. You stay smart enough to look out for yourself, and just in case you aren't good enough, you get someone else to help with that job. But hey, Ryan was the one with the powers that were like... actually weren't freaking invincible with mad ub3r powerz... 

So why da HELL... 

When someone who's Stand has NO WEAKNESSES... 

Has to fight alone for just TEN GOD DAMN MINUTES... 

…And during that time, CAN'T EVEN KEEP HIMSELF FROM GETTING A BIG NASTY BULLET THROUGH HIS GOD DAMN SKULL!? 

            Barely conscious, Ryan had been twitching weakly on the floor, trying his utmost best to avoid bleeding to death. Bullets, fireballs and assorted ki projectiles winged by overhead, causing the odd explosion and eliciting the odd curse, as several came way too close for comfort.

            A HUGE distortion of space tore right past towards Chan, right before he retaliated with a machine-gun volley of warpfire pulses. The entire train shuddered crazily at that, and several lights went out.

            The crowd had dispersed completely. They were clustered at opposite ends of the train, intent on escaping from these two psychopaths who were busy hurling fire and death back and forth. 

            Evidently, Chan and his clone had taken the hint, for that had been the last big exchange of energy. They switched right to conventional firearms, filling the place with the rattling blast of autogun fire, punctuated by the heavier thunder of the Mage Cannon.

            Then, there had been a gurgle, and a muffle _thud _as something heavy hit the ground. So yeah, Chan was probably dead. 

            But Ryan wasn't hanging around to see what happened next. Slowly, taking special pains not to be seen, he began to crawl in the direction of the nearest exit.

***********

            Chan crouched down behind the last fragment of the shattered seats, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Desperately, he dug into his pockets, attempting to find more ammunition for his weapon.

            He came up with one more clip of quartz rounds, and three scattered metal bullets he'd shoved in there the day before.

Not good.

In the first few frenzied minutes of the gun battle, Chan had expended an odd half-dozen clips, at least a quarter of the supply readily accessible to him. Much like a Physics course, he wasn't really going anywhere.

Footsteps resounded, as his duplicate began to close in, striding fearlessly forward for the kill. The bastard wasn't afraid. Why would he be? Every single Mage Cannon round aimed at him had simply bounced off, deflected away by an invisible…Hell, make that _invincible shield of force._

Chan could hear him coming closer, and the steady _drip-drip-drip _of blood on the train floor, caused by the flying shrapnel from a set of wrecked steel frames…

Wait a minute.

All _Mage Cannon rounds had bounced off…Those aimed __directly at Burnout, at least. But the random spray of glass, metal fragments and wood chips HAD cut into flesh. _

Maybe the shield wasn't invulnerable, after all.

Taking a deep breath, Chan chambered one of his precious metal rounds, murmuring a fervent prayer to any deity who might be listening. He could quite possibly be DEAD wrong.

*************

            Burnout hummed a merry tune, casually striding down the aisle. Very soon, he would finish off the original, and his job would be complete. Ignis had promised a nice big bonus for the completion of this unpleasant business-

            -Then Chan stood up. Once-fine clothes ripped to shreds, he aimed the Mage Cannon, finger tightening on the trigger. With a sigh, Burnout slowly raised his heavy autopistol, taking as much time as he needed. There was no way that stupid cannon could hurt-

            ***BLAM***

            The heavy metal round thudded in Burnout's chest with a sickening sound, like a hammer smashing a melon. Suddenly, all of Burnout's strength left him. Gasping for air, his knees suddenly decided to buckle.

            Swaying like a tree in a storm, the man tried to raise his gun, intent on pulling his foe down into death with him…

            Chan fired again, a kill shot.

            Burnout's face came apart, sending spattering streamers of crimson pulp and bone flying everywhere. The bullet punched through his head with so much force, that it continued on, burrowing into the last of the wall.

            Slowly, the headless corpse toppled, the gun slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers.

            Shaking, Chan tried to holster the Mage Cannon. He missed twice, finally shoving it into his pocket. Reaching down, with a calmness that told of slow-rising panic, he carefully scooped the matte-black autogun up, ignoring the clammy coldness of the rapidly-stiffening corpse.

            Unlike Andro, Chan wasn't a killer. Sure, he'd shot people once or twice…But so far, no one had actually _died._ Not in this way at least. 

            Adrenaline drained away, leaving only numb exhaustion in its wake. 

            Involuntarily, Chan's eyes ran over the neat line of holes punched in the seating, just above head-height. 

            _An inch higher and…_

Stop. He wasn't going to think about that,

            Deliberately, intent on keeping his mind focused on the situation at hand, Chan looked around for Ryan. The moment the train stopped, they were OUT of here.

            And then…A shower. Or fifty or so. For some reason, Chan knew he would never feel clean again.

*************

            Andro sat in front of the door, gazing moodily out of the window. He fiddled with the odd blade-device his foe had been wearing, his mind not really on his work. The weapon was masterfully crafted, with cruel, serrated edges and a gauntlet to wear the entire contraption.

            Normally, like a child with a new toy, Andro would've been utterly absorbed in his work, attempting to find out what made it tick.

            But today…Today, Andro's heart wasn't really on it,

            Jiazheng had returned to consciousness a while ago. He'd been oddly withdrawn, not seeming to pay much attention to anything. The swordsman had simply got up, winced a little at his wounds, and went straight to sleep. 

            Andro was contemplating his next course of action. As far as he knew, that mockery had been sent to kill him. It had failed…But only after the combined efforts of both him and Jiazheng. 

            This was only the first, Andro knew. When NESTS could send one, they would soon send more. 

            Not for the first time, Andro seriously considered running for it. With his funds, and the contacts available to him, he could out of the country in a day. And then…What, exactly? The life of a fugitive didn't suit Andro very well. If he did that, he'd forever be looking over his shoulder, wondering if pursuit was finally catching up with him.

            No. Andro intended to meet his foes head-on. They would pay for their victory in blood and pain. Gallons of it, in fact. NESTS would regret the day it decided to…

            ***BANG***

            The door was flung open, as Chan and Ryan burst in, dirty and bleeding. 

            "ANDRO! On the train…There was…There was…"

            Gracefully, Andro rose from his seat, thoughts crystallizing into determination once more. The moment of weakness was gone, leaving him as mentally prepared as he would ever be.

            "Come in. We have much to discuss, and little time to do so."

*************

            "…And that's what happened. When I checked, he was carrying _this."_

            Andro tossed the blade-device onto the table, a grim edge in his voice. Very carefully, Ryan reached forward, running a finger over the razor-sharp edges. The young man shook his head, letting off a low whistle.

            "That's not a knife, Andro. That's a miniature chainsaw."

             "I know. I used it to dismember and hide the body."

            An awkward silence.

            Chan let out an uncomfortable cough, drawing the heavy autogun from his pockets. He set it down on the table, absently wiping his hands as he did.

            "My clone was carrying this fancy weapon. Seems like an SMG with a case of mumps. Carries fifty rounds, with a built-in gas vent to compensate for recoil."

            He shook the thing for emphasis, before he continued.

            "The question isn't _who _sent them. There's only one group we know who hates us enough to send these guys. The question is _how. How did they get this stuff? Hell, how'd they even manage to get copies of us?"_

            Ryan shrugged, tilting his chair all the way back. His usually cheerful face contorted into a frown, as he tried to think of a reason for the insane situation he was now in.

            "Don't ask me, Chan. I'll say really good plastic surgery…Maybe even cloning. But that stuff is way, _way _ahead of our time, alright?"

            "It's possible. Remember last year, guys? At the Zero Cannon?"

            Ryan suddenly sat back up.

            "Yeah…Blood, skin samples, flesh…Everything was there. All they needed to do was to take what they wanted…"

            He was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat, as his mind followed that unpleasant train of thought to the conclusion.

            "SHIT! THEY'VE OGION'S BODY!!!"

            "What?"

            "You're kidding."

            "No, I'm not. Just think. If they could make decent copies of us with just some remains…We left Ogion there to face Zero alone, guys. They _might have taken his body. I'm not saying they did."_

            Andro thrummed his fingers on the table. Something was wrong with that, but he couldn't really place it…

            "Chan, you said that the Mage Cannon had no effect whatsoever on this 'Burnout', right?"

            "Yeah. I hit him five times dead on, and he shrugged it off. Only a metal round actually punched right through the shield."

            "But he didn't use a Stand, right?"

            "Uh…As far as I can tell, no."

            "Then Ryan's wrong. Those people didn't _copy _us. They were made to _counter _us."

            "So what now?"

            "We'll have to find some way to strike back. We can't let them chip away at us like this forever."

             "But now? We've a fight in two days!"

            "***Sigh*** Okay, right _after_ that fight. _Then, we'll find some way to retaliate."_

            Chan lifted his autogun, hefting its unfamiliar weight in his hands. 

            "Well, we better learn to use these things. Ryan, you're the genius here. Help Andro with that chainsaw of his. I'm gonna learn how to fire this without blowing my wrist off. Two days, people. Better make the most of it."

            "How about Jiazheng?"

            "He wants the truth, Andro can tell him the truth."

            Chan got up and walked off, dispersing the impromptu meeting.

            "But remember this. Ignorance is bliss…"

            So quietly that almost no one heard him, Andro completed the proverb.

            "…And reality is harsh."

(Whew. The longest chapter yet. Any suggestions for the next fight is welcome, as always. Sorry for the long wait, but I had a hell lot of tests in these two weeks. I'll update faster next time, okay? Till then, bye!)


	7. Unforseen Difficulties

**Chapter 7: Unforseen Difficulties**

Outside Tokyo Stadium:

            "What…The…HELL?"

            "You heard right. There's been a change in the plans."

            There was a long silence, as the DHS team struggled to absorb this. They'd woken at five a.m., pumping themselves to the eyeballs with caffeine. One short trip to the Tokyo Stadium, they'd been awaiting their upcoming match with the Koreans, all hyper and ready to go.

            …But instead, they got to have this half-assed idiot with a bad hairdo mouth them off instead.

            As Andro would have put it, someone was going to pay.

            Ryan was visibly fuming, obviously not liking where this was going. Jiazheng tapped his foot on the ground impatiently, simply hoping to get this over as quickly as possible. Andro was examining his blades with a psychopathic look on his face, as he contemplated their razor edges.

            Chan shook his head with resignation. It would probably be all he could do to prevent premature violence.

            "I'm not even going to ASK what caused the screwup, okay? So…What're we up against? Is the NESTS team making a premature showing or something?"

            "Well…Uh…"

            "Spit it out. Before Andro makes you."

            "It's the Female Team."

            Once more, there was a total lack of noise…Right before everyone started talking at once.

            "BullSHIT! Those girls wouldn't even make it past-"

            "You gotta be-"

            "Screw you-"

            "Wrong. They're already inside."

            "Oh, God."

************

**"RYAN LIM!!!!"**

First up, Ryan strode into the arena, to a thunderous ovation from the audience. Unable to withstand the urge to show off, Ryan flung several lightning bolts sky-high, before turning a spiffy backflip, and finishing with a quick bow. He waited tensely, wondering who-or WHAT his opponent would be.

**"MAI SHIRANUI!" **

        The crowd went absolutely *nuts*.  The phone numbers went up.  The

integrity of the glass windows dropped sharply.

        "Yeah, I saw this coming," said Chan.

        "Oh, shut up..."

        Mai happily ran down to the ring to the Fighting Women Team's theme, and did a small flourish in the center of it, fans unfolded.  She basked in the resulting cheers, smiling the entire time.

            This was when Ryan made his first mistake.

            "You're a fighter? I don't BELIEVE it!"

            "I'm Mai Shiranui of the Shiranui Ninja Clan!"

            Silence.

            "No. Way. My friend, Andro, is a ninja. You're a…OUCH!"

            A fan promptly smacked into his face, followed by another. And another. AND ANOTHER. Even as Ryan frantically tried to shield himself, Mai pulled out a seemingly endless supply of replacements.

            "Quit it! That HURTS!"

            "Good!"

            Ryan rolled back, barely dodging another volley of butterfly fans. He fired back with lightning, clawing the next few from the air. With an incredible flip, Ryan launched himself into the air, flinging more and more blasts down onto the arena.

            The schoolboy landed on his feet with a solid _thud_, kicking into a neat roll that bought him some distance from Mai, even as three more fans screamed overhead. Just to make a point, he batted them away with a simple sweep of his open hand.

            Mai pouted.  "Arrgh!   Stupid ninja club.  I keep telling them not to keep buying

these *cheap* fans, but do they *ever* listen to me?  Nooooo--"

            Ryan didn't even bother to answer. He began his assault in earnest.

For him, his first few attacks were light and slow. For almost anyone else, it was a systematic torrent of blows and electricity that a very good fighter would have been hard pressed to have kept up with.  

Somehow, Mai managed to avoid everything aimed her way, punishing Ryan with repeated fan swipes. With a snarl, he spun away her with a quick spin kick, followed by an off-the-ground Electronic Revolution uppercut that sent the woman into the air.

Ryan crouched, preparing to follow up with the obligatory Lightning Curtain/ Power Drive combo…Right before a shot glass hit him in the back of the head.

"OW! HEY! WHO THREW THAT?"

 "Screw off, ya bum! You don't hit a girl like that!"

The people in the stands were told not to get involved with the fights, but they were drunk, so they waived that rule. Bottles and chairs were thrown Ryan's way along with constant shouts of "Pick on somebody yer own size!" and "Ya stupid bum!"

************

Jiazheng sighed, and shook his head. 

"I just _knew it. This had to happen, didn't it guys…Guys?"_

Chan and Andro were already moving off, drawing blades and gun respectively. Jiazheng's eyes bulged out, as both boys turned towards the stands, and aimed.

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!!!"

"Yes we are. MAGE CANNON!!!!"

"SHADOW EDGE!!!"

Abruptly, a large portion of empty seating was enveloped in smoke and dust, sending some of the audience running for cover. The barrage of junk stopped, giving Ryan a chance to recover, and return to the fray with a vengeance.

Calmly, Andro sat back down, as Chan loaded another shell into his smoking gun.

"Crowd control. Works every time."

************

"HIRYU-NOOOOOOOOOO-KENNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!"

With a devastating ka-ta yell, Ryan flung himself forward with all his might, letting off a flying kick that could smash concrete. Without the distractions posed by the hail of junk, he was finding it _far easier to fight._

            Mai back flipped from the oncoming onslaught (no pun intended) and bounced (still... no pun intended) off the wall, hitting Ryan with a downward dive. One thing on Mai's side was the knowledge of what she was up against.

            Days before, she'd asked King for advice on what Juggernaut was capable of. Mai became unnerved when her close friend informed her that her opponent was more powerful than anyone she'd ever had the task of fighting. Goro Daimon? Maxima? Chang Koehan? Raiden? Ralf Jones? All weaklings compared to this abomination.

            She spun around and hit Ryan with the flame-covered tail of her red outfit. This was met with two rock-solid fists sheathed in lightning smashing Mai back into the air. Again, she went for an air dive, but the leaping Quicksilver caught her out of it and slammed her into the ground. Mai rolled away to recuperate.

            King was right. Ryan was tough. But Mai was determined. 

            She tossed a quick quartet of flaming fans, grimacing as Ryan blew them back with a football of water. 

            "Is that all you can do, lady? Stick to waiting tables!"

            "HOU'OU NO MAI!!!!"

            Mai leapt into the air, as if going for the aerial dive. Ryan went for the proscribed Electronic Revolution counter instantly, expecting a quick end to the fight. He was unpleasantly surprised when a massive ball of flames slammed into him, smashing him into the ground.

            Intent on finishing him, Mai ran forward, drawing another fan from her endless supply. Then…

            "AERIAL SLICER!!"

            Andro hit her from behind with an Aerial Slicer, launching her into the air _again. Ryan rolled to his feet, juggling Mai with a quick Electronic Revolution._

            "SHADOW CUT KICK!"

            "LIGHTNING CURTAIN!!"   

            Both boys leapt back up one last time, sandwiching Mai between two powered-up backflips. The ninja abruptly crashed back down, bruised and disorientated. Andro tossed off a quick salute and strode back into the seats, ignoring the boos that rained down from above.

            Slowly, Mai tried to get to her feet, wincing slightly at the pain that shot through her every time she tried to move. If she didn't do something drastic, she was going to lose this match. With a snarl, Mai pulled off another flip, and charged. 

            Sure, Ryan was strong. But her will was stronger. Ryan was quite rudely surprised to discover that, at least in reaction time, the woman he'd written off at the start of the combat could match him speed-for-speed.

            An Electronic Revolution rush ran headlong into a flaming fan and was stopped cold: Mai's try for a Sachiyo Dori followup was stuffed by a rising kick. The girl crashed to the floor and rolled back to her feet, brushing off shards but ready to continue. She lit Ryan up with the same triple flaming spin-kick that had started this whole fight, once more sending him into the ground.

            "Flying Squirrel!"

            From midair, Mai dove headfirst towards Ryan--

            "SHADOW REAPER!" ***SMACK***

            --only to be launched *back* up by an uppercut from her opponent. As Mai landed, Ryan rushed in to follow up--

            "KACHOUSEN!" ***WHACK***

            --and got hit in the face with a fan. Seeing her chance, Mai jumped away, hopping to the other end of the ring once more. 

            "This match is mine, boy!" Mai taunted, before letting loose an endless barrage of fans from her vantage point. Every half-minute or so, some of them would be *flaming* fans.

            Ryan inched his way towards Mai, dodging, parrying and blocking as best he could, but Mai would see this and simply inch back further. None of his potent projectiles were currently available, all requiring time to be let off.

            Then he remembered he could teleport.

            Oh, yeah.

            He disappeared and reappeared two feet straight up, in the same position, feeling like an idiot. A fan screamed right through where he'd been, followed by three more. Ryan vanished one more time, and appeared right in front of Mai.

            "Now, you die."

            Judging from the look on her face, she believed him.

            "RYAN'S FINAL SYMPHONY!!!!

            Mai swung at Ryan with a fan, in a desperate attempt to knock him unconscious. It would've connected, except that Ryan had plenty of time to see it coming.

            The fan landed several feet away after Ryan kicked it out of the ninja's hands. That in itself wasn't significant compared to the furious assault Ryan leveled against Mai in retaliation. 

            A dozen punches, kicks, swipes, and throat strikes nailed her, right before a final somersault kick sent Mai flying fifteen feet away to crash into the railings. 

            She slid to the ground, propped herself against the wall, and wobbled as she tried to retain her balance. "N-nice... I'll remem... remember that... one..." she managed to say before collapsing.

*************

            "Great going, Ryan! You ROCK!!"

            "Jiazheng, put the camera away. I can't believe you actually did that."

            "Hey, it's all in da mochandizing! Capitalism is great! Besides…"

            Jiazheng pointed to the crowd full of amateur and professional perverts, who were all busy snapping pictures of the fight. As could be expected, the brunt of the flashbulbs were aimed at Mai's unconscious body, as she lay unconscious in…Shall we say…A compromising position.

            Ryan obviously hadn't noticed that not many people weren't paying attention to him. Grinning like an idiot, he continued waving, walking back and forth.

            "You wanna tell him?"

            "Don't spoil his fun."

*************

            King checked her spare clothing. Decent fit, insulation lined...perfect. She could only hope, really. After her last encounter with Benimaru, she'd become _very_ careful, especially when going up against superpowered freaks.

**            "NOW ENTERING THE FIGHTING AREA...KING!" **King walked into the center of the arena, backflipped, and showed a sign, reading, "Pao Pao Cafe: The drinks are cold, and the action's hot!"

            Ryan popped his neck and cracked his knuckles, once more assuming his versatile stance. Flickering bolts of electricity jagged down his arms, outlining them in a sudden shower of sparks.

            "Bring it on."

            King kicked out a fireball immediately, and watched it collide in midair with a orb of water that flashed out of existence. King tried sending two fireballs, only to be punched in the back. She composed herself quickly enough to block the combo that followed, however, and let Ryan have it with a backflip and a side of kicks to the face.

            Ryan retreated, trading ground for recovery time. He kicked into an awkward backward roll, just ducking the spin kick that followed. The customary lightning bolts jabbed from his fingers, just missing King.

            Immediately, they charged each other. 

            King ducked down and gave her opponent a few swinging kicks to the shins, and had the favor returned in kind with a set of sweeps. Once the sweeps were out of range, King jumped and flipped in midair, then sprang her feet out towards the student.

            Ryan took the attack, but was able to recover in time to land another uppercut as King tried another mid-air spinning kick. As King rose from that, she decided that she had just about enough.

            A flash accompanied King backflipping. This was quickly followed by a jumpkick out of nowhere.

            The backflip was blocked, almost finishing what strength Ryan had left. The jumpkick, though....

            ...the jumpkick, Ryan wasn't there for.

            He vanished in a spray of water, reappearing right behind King. 

            "PHONEIX…"

            Ryan's hands came down, as he pounded the ground in an axehandle position.

            "CYCLONIC!!!"

            Knowing that a particularly nasty move was aimed her way, King did the only thing she could. 

            She rolled.

            Ryan's scream of rage _quite _drowned out the sound of the short-lived windstorm that followed, even as King flipped to her feet. As Ryan's hands came off the floor during the suicidal long delay time, he knew that he was doomed. It was only a matter of what finished him off.

            "ILLUSION DANCE!!!"

            A huge wall of kicks smashed him flat.

*************

            Chan winced, as the medics dragged Ryan's comatose form off the ring. Judging from the sure speed and number of feet that had hit him, it _had to hurt. To make things worse, he was next up…Against an opponent he'd fought before._

            And that was really bad. Normally, his unique (Read: Crappy) way of fighting served to surprise and confuse his opponents-The first time, at least. But with Requiem below full strength-

            "Just get in there, idiot."

            -He'd just have to try it.

            With unseemly haste, Chan hopped into the ring, looking far more confident than he felt. Flipping the Mage Cannon, he squared off against King. The woman shook her head, smirking slightly.

            "Still using that? Good _luck_."

            That didn't sound good.

            "FIGHT!!!"

            The synthesized command rang over the intercom, signaling the beginning of the brewing violence. The crowd let out another roar, expecting the defending champions to easily put a quick end to this fight.

            And the running began.

*************

            "SON OF A BITCH!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS HE **_DOING_**?!!!"

            The moment the fight started, Chan turned tail, and ran for his life. He wasn't dodging, wasn't trying to pull off any insane stunt. Without even summoning up anything, the boy simply turned, and flat-out ran.

            King was stunned and not a little surprised by this sudden retreat. She began to pursue him, cautiously at first, by slowly picking up speed as there was no clear retaliation. 

            Very soon, she was in full pursuit, with a ***huge*** volley of Venom Strikes aimed Chan's way. Weaving like a maniac, Chan managed to dodge most of the assault, though a few connected, sending him skidding off his feet, and right ***into*** the wall. 

            Thud.

            "Ouch."

            Chan climbed back to his feet, finally opening fire. The Mage Cannon in his hand began to thunder out the customary salvo of fireballs, blasting huge holes in both the floor and the railings. King simply dove aside in an incredible acrobatic flip, intending to charge in when he reloaded.

            "Requiem."

            The Stand shimmered into existence, a solid barrier between the blond fighter and the student. It carefully followed King's motion, granting Chan time to reload, as always.

            Jiazheng frowned. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it…

*************

            The fight was not going well.

            Chan was in serious trouble, that much he knew. The power flowing through him now came in slow, sluggish spasms, rather than the usual limitless reservoir it was. Just like dipping a hand into paint, there was a definite resistance to anything he was trying to do.

            Requiem seemed to sense its master's difficulties, and was busy taking full advantage of them. The thing turned occasionally, snapping a pair of razor-sharp jaws at Chan. There a strange, vicious light jagging from its eyes, as it glared murder at the Stand-wielder.

            _Enough! Chan lashed the thing back into its place with a whip of azure light, keeping his gun trained on King all the while. If he lived through this, Requiem was going to pay. _

            Determinedly, he raised his other hand, cupping a rather feeble tongue of warpflame. What did it matter, anyway? He still had enough warpfire to burn anything that opposed him…He hoped.      

*************

            King didn't particularly know what was going on, and didn't particularly care. She fired off a quick pair of Venom Strike fireballs, running in to score a Trap Shot on Chan. The student's response was surprisingly weak, with a subpar Flintlock Dragon Uppercut that merely shoved her back.

            Requiem body-tackled her away, a threatening growl coming somewhere from its maw. A scythe of bone cut into her midriff, right before King fed the thing a Venom Strike in the face.

            With a howl, Requiem staggered back, a small hole evident in its transparent body. Chan clenched his teeth in sympathetic pain, retaliating with flickering bolts of fire, and yet another Mage Cannon round.

            Requiem broke into a charge, with Chan right behind. Evidently, he was back in control…For now, at least.

            "REQUIEM PUNCH!!!"

            A _huge spectral fist slammed into King, spinning her even further back. Rolling with the blow, the bartender hopped right back up, coming back in with Venom Strikes ablazing. Bullets caught and tore the projectiles from the air, annihilating both in a brief implosion of light._

            Things rapidly went downhill from there, as Chan and King closed in once again, to continue the beating the old-fashioned way.

*************

            Chan's face cracked into a disturbing smile, as the fight went on. He'd regained both his centre, and his control. Slowly, he settled into his standard procedure: Use the Stand to shield oneself, while moving in to fire and withdrawing to reload, as was necessary. The boy kept up a constant rate of fire now, slamming in more bullets even as empty rounds fell to the ground.

            Today, King was having her hands full, as munitions rained all around her. She dashed in, struck with a kick or short combo, and leapt away before the damnable Stand circled round to strike him. It was time to call in her help

            Silently, Andro dropped down behind King, blades scything through the air as he dashed forward on padded feet-Just as the world's smallest sumo wrestler crashed into Chan from behind. His aim went wild, sending his next shot streaking towards the horizon.

            King leapt forward, ready to deal another flying kick to Chan's face. Andro ran right beneath her, eyes widening in sudden shock. Chan, still trying to shove Hinako off him, looked up just in time to see Andro slam into him. All three went down again, in a confused pile of steel, bullets and curses. 

            The bartender managed to skid to a stop, inches from the mess. Swearing, Chan got to his feet, his eyes glowing an unhealthy shade of red. Andro, realizing the startup of his SDM, got the hell out of the way. So did all of the audience directly in front of him.

            "All right. THAT'S ENOUGH!!! Prepare to…"

            With no other way out, King ran straight towards Chan, hoping to take him out before whatever he was casting was unleashed. To her credit, she was close.

            Requiem warped back to Chan. Both of its massive cannons flipped open, even as Chan himself raised the Mage Cannon.

            "DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

**            ***THOOMMMMMMMMMM*****

            A barrage of bullets, energy, light and micro-rockets tore ahead, as Chan went (You guessed it.) Postal. It didn't matter exactly _where he was shooting. Everyone ran like hell, or simply dove for cover. A final bright explosion lit the sky, as a small mushroom cloud billowed up from the ring._

            Jiazheng poked his head around the corner and took in the scene. The stands were now shallow craters, littered with various debris that had the misfortune of not being vaporized. Amazingly, the walls were still standing, and the audience had escaped relatively unharmed.

            There was no sign of King.

            "You…Got…Lucky…"

            Chan managed, sinking to his knees. He suddenly didn't have the strength to stand. So slowly that he almost missed it, a single hand emerged from the rubble. It clawed round, as if trying to find something to grip onto, before it collapsed again.

            "Then again…I guess you didn't."

*************

Later…

            After the ring was tidied up, and Chan helped offstage, the final fight began. Jiazheng and Li Xiangfei, each the underdog of their respective teams, walked right into the ring. 

            **"FINAL ROUND: JIAZHENG V.S. LI XIANGFEI! FIGHT!"**

            Jiazheng unstrapped his scabbard, holding it in front of him. This was it. The survival of the entire team depended on him! He could not-_would _not lose. And of course, there was Andro's promise to think of.

            As he had said, in deadly earnestness:

            "Jiazheng, if you lose…I'll kill you."

            Jiazheng believed him. Not that it had any bearing on the current situation, none at all. He was beginning to circle Xiangfei, when a thought struck him.

            "Hey, wait. That name…You're Chinese, aren't you?"

            Xiangfei looked at him oddly, but nodded.

            "Of course! Your point is?"

            "You're the biggest disgrace to the race I've ever seen. I mean, you play up EVERY stereotype I've-"

            He should've been paying more attention to the fight.

            Xiangfei shoulder-tackled Jiazheng, with a quick yell of 'Ekisupo!' The swordsman was shoved several steps back, but quickly regained his stance. It was time to get serious. 

            "BLAZING STRIKE!!!"

            His scabbard burst into flames, forming a massive blade of emerald fire. Jiazheng began to advance, swinging his weapon in careful controlled circles around himself.  

            "See? Even that cheap attack brings up-Oof-"

            Xiangfei blasted him away with a small chi ball.

            "And that's for annoying the _hell _outta me! Just shut up and _fight, alright?"_

            Andro began to sharpen his blades again, with a decidedly ominous noise. His glare could be felt right through the visor, and two layers of cloth. Jiazheng gulped, picking himself back up.

            "EMERALD WAVE!!!"

            _That caught Xiangfei by surprise. She barely managed to parry it, blowing a small hole in the wave with her chi blast again._

            "Who's being cheap now?"

            There was no way Jiazheng was falling for that trick again. He broke into a zig-zag run, spinning his blazing weapon through loose fingers. Xiangfei flipped forward, making a quick grab at him that missed. Jiazheng swiped at her with his scabbard in return, clipping her skin with an odd sizzling noise.

            Xiangfei hissed in pain, landing a one-handed double flipkick on Jiazheng's chest. This time, Jiazheng managed to get in a solid strike, searing through one of her hair buns with a _fast _spinning slash. They broke apart, both limping now.

            "I CAN'T LOSE AGAIN! I CAN'T!!!"

            Jiazheng charged his foe, making his sword move faster through sure force of will. It was as though a faint green haze surrounded him, chopping through the air with a keening noise.

            "WHIRLWIND SLASH!!!"

            Suddenly, Jiazheng sped up to twice his normal rate. His feet blurred, as he brought his weapon round in an incredibly fast swing. Xiangfei leaned back like a dancer, mildly surprised as the weapon scythed past overhead. She kicked Jiazheng in the back, sending him sprawling.

            With a clatter, Jiazheng hit the ground again, skidding along on his face. 

            The momentum of battle suddenly on her side, all Xiangfei had to do was to rush in, potentially ending the fight prematurely. Of course, being Xiangfei, she did the exact opposite. She taunted.

            "Hah! Some kind of swordsman you are! DAI TETSUIJIN!!"

            Jiazheng blurred out of the way, snatching up his sword again. He lit back into Xiangfei with a vengeance, cracking her a good one across the skull.

            "SINISTRAL!!!"

            Somehow, Jiazheng managed to turn a single quick backfist into an elbow bash, a brief shoulder-charge, and a ferocious uppercut, launching Xiangfei sky-high. He leapt up, giving her a boost back to the ground with a vicious two-handed Heaven-To-Earth cut, complete with a detonation of light at the end.

            Still game, Xiangfei got up again, announcing her return to the fight by breaking Jiazheng's nose. Superbly pissed, he struck back even harder, this time with a four-hit dashing strike known as the Rising Nova. 

            Now bruised and bleeding, they both fell back, on some unspoken agreement.

            "Had enough?"

            "No. You _suck."_

            Upon hearing the dreadful words, Jiazheng went pale. He'd enough. He was _sick _of hearing how crappy he was. He'd trained hard for this too! And now, nothing, no nothing AND no one was going to get in his way.

            "I…DO NOT…**_SUCK!!! _OVERCHANNEL!!!"**

            With a roar, he forced more power into himself than was safe. He HAD to win!

            Green tides of force poured into the ring from an unseen reservoir, each and every stream stabbing into Jiazheng and lighting him up with an unhealthy green glow. His motions smoothed out, each one flowing into another as he advanced one last time, heavy scabbard swinging effortlessly in one hand.

            Xiangfei made the mistake of trying to close in for the kill. 

            "MUSASHI NO SHUGGEKI!!!!!! DIE!"

            Suddenly, Jiazheng's blade seemed to be everywhere, slashing and stabbing all at once. It bashed back blows and teeth with equal effectiveness, leaving trails of light in its wake. A last swathe of light smashed Xiangfei back, bringing her down to the floor, just as Jiazheng leapt into the air.

            "THIS ENDS NOW!"

            There was a final, massive detonation that quite dwarfed the original. Stone shards sprayed in all directions, shattering glass and metal with abandon. Jiazheng came to a stop, coughing up streamers of blood. Xiangfei wasn't moving.

            "I…Won…I…Win…But more importantly…YOU LOSE!! YOU LOSEEE!!!!"

            There was the faint sound of applause, as the audience began clapping. Grudgingly at first, the noise grew louder and louder, as more people joined in. Ignoring the pain of his wounds and the fire burning in his sternum, Jiazheng put on a brave smile. Hacking up more blood, he managed to bow once, arms open.

            "Ah…Showbiz."

(From here on, the story will begin to pick up a bit, with a surprise reappearance from the _other _DHS team. It may take me some time to write it, but I think I can get it up before the end of the holidays. Once again, any suggestions are welcome, so please read and review as always.)


	8. An Offer You Can't Refuse

**Chapter 8: An Offer You Can't Refuse**

            Winter. 

            A time of the year when families patrol the streets in force, staving off the drudgery of schoolwork and toil for several weeks, at least. Despite the grimy, frankly pathetic snow that drifted down from above, the mood in Tokyo was generally cheerful.   Most of the populace was either wandering the streets, or were already at home, watching the semi-finals of the KOF Tournament.

            No such luck for the DHS team.

            The hotel they stayed in was decently heated, with a radiator in every room. It was like being enclosed in a perfect sphere of hot air, to the point of the entire place being stuffy. But the cold that seeped in seemed to be ingrained into the very fabric of the building, with a chill that no fire could warm.

            The other problem was boredom.

            Simply put, there was nothing to do. Chan was endlessly carving the quartz bullets he favored, with a repetitive _click-click-chink_ sound that set teeth on end. Ryan read and reread the stack of magazines and assorted fantasy novels he'd brought with him till they were torn and tattered. 

Andro spent most of his time sprawled out on the sofa, apparently asleep. Judging from the way his fingers twitched, he wasn't having the time of his life. No one dared to wake him.

Jiazheng had spent the first two days running around the small rooms, in a frantic post-victory euphoria. After several death threats, and a very effective decision to tie him to a chair, he'd calmed down. Somewhat.

The entire group was bored out of their minds, and sick to death of being stuck in this small place. Even worse, they were getting sick of each other. If it wasn't Chan's teeth-grindingly irritating carving, it was Andro's thousand-yard stare, or Jiazheng's cheerfulness. The other three dreamed of murdering him, just to pass the time.

Thus, when the doorbell rang, it came as something of a relief to the group.

 "I'll get it!"    

"Geez. What's eating _him_?"

Chan stared through the peephole, caution overcoming his eagerness. Since the attack of the clones, he was always far more careful…

"Oh. My. GOD."

***************

Ii was unique, and pretty damn funny, to watch Chan dash back into the living room as if all the demons of hell were on his heels. The boy's face had gone a pasty shade of white, and his expression hovered somewhere between surprise and horror.

 "Yo, Chan. Back already? Who's that?"

"It's Kula! What's she DOING here?"

Silence.

"What?"

Andro was on his feet in an instant, a knife in each hand.

"Kula? Who's with her? Where's the extermination squad?"

"Uh…She's alone."

Ryan's face split into an evil grin. He knew _exactly _where this was going.

"Oh, she's probably not here to fight. Why don't you open that door, Chan?"

"Why me?"

"She's your girl, anyway. Besides, weren't you _sooo_ eager to have a break from your carving, man? You handle it."

The doorbell rang again, this time with a distinctively irritated tone to it.

"Well, go on."

"***grumble, grumble*** Rat bastard."

***************

With the air of a man knowing his fate and dreading it, Chan opened the door-_slowly._ A purple blur slammed into him, tackling him with a combined hug/glomp that knocked all the breath from him. 

"CHAN!"

Was that the sound of his ribs creaking?

"Ugh...Ease up on the ribs, Kula…"

"Oh. Sorry."

Ryan leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings with amusement. He didn't even bother to say anything, but his upraised eyebrows spoke volumes.

"Gakk…Ryan, you know it's not like that…HEY!"

"Heh…I'll leave you two to it."

Ryan promptly snuck back into the hostel, that evil grin still on his face. Chan carefully pried Kula off him, doing his best to hold off the impending nosebleed. The girl looked slightly…Disappointed? What the hell?

"Well, it's nice to see you again, Kula. But tell me: How'd you get here? And why?"

"Easy. I just asked the nice lady downstairs where the DHS team was. She even gave me a key! See?"

_Aw, shit._

"Okay…But _WHY _are you here?"

"Big sisters Diana and Foxy want to see you. All of you, in fact."

"Gods above. They sent you?"

"Of course! They wanted it to be a surprise!"

"Give me a moment, okay? I'll call the others."

***************

"You know very well that this could be a trap, don't you?"

Chan dug through his wardrobe, shoving the large autopistol under his coat. The Mage Cannon, and a few extra clips of ammunition already rode in his holster. Ryan pulled on his Kevlar-lined jacket, yanking on his fingerless gloves as he walked.

"Yeah. I do."

"So why? Why're we walking right into it?"

Ryan sighed, trying to explain the concept to Jiazheng.

"See, Jiazheng, it's like…A gamble. We're taking a chance going to see them, and this'll show that we're not afraid. Besides, if they wanted us dead, a horde of troops would've crashed through the window already. Andro? You coming?"

The assassin shook his head, slowly.  

"No. _Someone _has to watch this place till you get back."

Chan reloaded his Magnum, snapping the gun shut with a _click._

"The question is, why'd they send Kula, of all people? They could've come in person."

"Maybe they knew that you'll definitely agree if they sent her."

"Ryan, I'm warning you…"

From somewhere outside, a muffled voice sounded.

"Guys? Could you hurry, please? I don't think Foxy would like to be kept waiting…"

"That's our cue. Let's get this show on the road."

***************

            The Pao Pao Cafe #34 isn't a great place, all told.

            It's got some of the charm of its Southtown counterpart, to be sure, and on

any given night, the house band is smokin', but it simply tries too hard to

be like it's in Southtown.

            The drinks suck, too.

            Ryan found that out soon enough, after he tried to choke down a mug of something pretending to be stout. The foamy brew struck the greasy tabletop with an acidic hiss, and promptly began to eat into the varnished wood.

            His thirst gone, Ryan shoved the cup away, staring off gloomly into empty space. 

            Kula had walked off somewhere since they'd arrived, mumbling something about going to get Diana. She'd been gone for half and hour. With nothing to drink or eat, it was beginning to seem like a _long _time.

            Jiazheng elbowed him in the ribs, not too hard.

            "Hey."

            "Yeah? What?"

            "What's their story?"

            "Our fearless leader-and that girl. What's that all about?"

            Ryan glanced over at Chan, who was moodily pushing his spare change through a stale puddle of beer. The bar's regulars had been giving him weird and extremely nasty looks, held back only by the obvious lump of the Mage Cannon by his side.

            What the hell. It couldn't hurt, could it?

            "Alright. But it's a _longgg _story, believe me. See, it all started last year…"

            Right. Everything had started exactly a year ago, when four boys, full of bravado and temporary insanity, decided to take on the world in one of the most violent and widely publicized tournaments to date. It'd began with a simple objective: Get the prize, get rich, go home. Of course, very soon, things had started to get complicated. 

            In a way, it was all Chan's fault. While waiting for Ryan and Andro to get back from a spending spree, he'd accidentally run straight into a trap set for the elusive K'. After the dust had settled, he'd made a new acquaintance, in the form of the 'rescuee', Kula.

            To this day, Ryan still believed that it'd all been set up. No way in hell that'd been a coincidence. It just didn't click. And what followed merely confirmed his suspicions.

            A week after that, when he'd been out drinking with Chan, they'd met Kula again. She'd succeeded in delaying their return home, long enough for an extermination squad to ambush Andro and Ogion. The two had fought off their pursuers, right before calling Ryan for aid. 

            Again, coincidence. 

            Still not suspecting a link, Ryan and Chan just left Kula in the bar, supposedly drunk. They'd run off to aid their friends, leaving a potentially dangerous threat right behind. 

            Later, in the apocalyptic finals of KOF 2000, pieces fell into place all too suddenly. While lost in the tunnels somewhere beneath Southtown, the DHS Team had been attacked by Kula and her cyborg helper Candy. Evidently, they'd been sent in to cleanup the mess left by Zero-including everyone involved.

            One massive battle later, involving a misfired Army Of One, telekinesis and a team attack, the group won. However, Candy had warped away with Kula, leaving them all with various injuries, and yet another loose end to tie up.

            "…And that's all. Maybe if not for that fight, Ogion would still be here today. Well, guess we'll never know."

            Ryan took another swig from the vile brew, grimacing as it filtered in like soup. 

            Jiazheng seemed to sink back further into his chair, as the full import of Ryan's words sank in.

            "You mean she tried to kill you? You're joking, aren't you?"

            "Nope."

            "Then why does-You know…"

            "Why does Chan like her? He's crazy that way. The end."

            Slow, mocking clapping resounded through the small room, followed by brief, feminine laughter. Foxy walked into the room, followed as always by Diana. Ryan turned to face them, hand going to the small orb in his pocket. Chan shifted slightly, reaching for his gun. Jiazheng's hands twitched, as he fought back the urge to go for his sword.

            Foxy eyed them all with mild curiosity.

            "It won't work, you know. The entire place is filled with dampers. Your powers can't function here."

            With a sinking feeling, Ryan realized she was right. Judging from the sudden flurry of curses from Jiazheng and Chan, they'd just found out the effects too.

            "Let's head to another table, okay? Too much riff-raff here for my liking."

            Exchanging worried glances, the group got up, with no choice but to do as they were told.

            Chan swore. He didn't like where this was going.           

***************

Back At The Hotel…

            The room was perfectly dark, with only a single candle lighting the shadows. Andro sat in front of the pinpoint of brief illumination, visor pulled down over his eyes as always.

            The flame flickered-

            "Shadow Edge."

            -And two halves of the wick fell to the ground, perfectly sliced in twain. Now the place was perfectly dark once more. Andro stretched out a hand, palm out. Focusing his energy, he tried to summon up a light, the way the others did it.

            For a brief moment, the shadows wavered, then were still again. 

            Nothing.

            Andro tried again. Brief flares lit up the room, one after another. None stayed for more than a second. With a growl, Andro gave up. He flicked on the lights, sighing in resignation. 

            No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't sustain his force. Using it to enhance his own physical might and speed was literally child's play, but everything else seemed to be beyond his grasp. Maybe it was time to try a different tack. Andro raised a hand, palm up. Perhaps if he tried it the way the others-

            -There was a shattering impact, and the door lurched forward, swaying sickeningly on its hinges. Andro leapt to his feet, drawing his blades in an instant. He dropped into a fighting stance, preparing a Shadow Edge for the first person to walk it.

            Another thunderous blow landed on the much-abused door, smashing it in two. All around the hotel, the sound of scrapes and thumping could be heard, as residents barricaded themselves in with anything that came to hand.

            "SHADOW EDGE!!!"

            Three spinning blades of darkness tore away from Andro, blasting out into the corridor. There was a muffled grunt, and a hiss of pain, as the knives connected with _something _solid.

            Yiming's hulking form piled into the room, small wedges cut into his arm. The big man seemed uncomfortable, but otherwise unperturbed. Andro backed away slightly, realising that he was probably no match for this giant. He drew his arm back, and prepared to launch another volley…

            ***THUNK***

            The knife fell from his hand, neatly punctured at the hilt by a trio of needles.

            "Andro, put the toys DOWN."

            Claire? Here? The situation was rapidly spiralling out of control.

            "Give him some time. We just broke into his room, for God's sake. And you expect a cordial welcome?"

            Karmen this time. 

            A final voice, one filled with a steely tone of command.

            "We're not here to kill you. In fact, we have a proposition you might find…Interesting, shall we say?"

            "Or, to put it in another light: We shall maketh you an offa you canna refuse."

            "Claire, shut it."

            Andro didn't relax one whit. But he _did _lower his blades slightly. 

            "Talk."

            "But could we come in first? Yiming wrecked the windows on his way up, and it's _really _cold out…"

            The sound of an audible bitchslap rang through the place. 

            "OW! That _hurt_!"

            "Claire…Just…Just SHUT UP!!!"

***************

Meanwhile…

            "Soooo…Lemme get this straight. _You_ want _us _to back out of KOF? You gotta be kidding."

            Ryan let out a brief laugh, somewhere between a chuckle and a snort. He shoved his chair back, balancing it on two legs. This _had _to be a joke or something…Right?

            "Ryan, don't do that. This seems to a serious matter."

            "Nahhhh. Can't be. That's wayyyyy too stupid for anyone to take it seriously…"

            His voice died away, as he realised that no one else was laughing. Diana and Foxy were glaring at him, grim looks on their faces. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Ryan brought his chair back down. Very, very slowly.

            "Let me ask a question, okay? Why?"

            Chan elbowed his friend in the ribs sharply, trying to get him to shut up. He needed to _think, _damnit. There was every chance they weren't walking out of here alive, and he had to figure of some way to escape.

            He shot a glance over at Jiazheng. 

            Not too much hope there. The swordsman was sitting dead still, hands twitching occasionally. The boy was way out of his league, and he knew it. 

            "What my friend means is…Well, what purpose would there be in asking us to withdraw?"

            ("That's exactly the same thing I said!" Ryan hissed back.)

            Diana considered this for a moment, seemingly taken aback.

            "You mean you really don't KNOW?"

            "Yeah."

            "Fine. We'll tell you this once."

            Diana's volume dropped sharply, forcing the group to lean forward to hear.

            "Ignis is beginning to be…_perturbed _by your actions. Your impromptu alliance has been winning with distressing frequency, more so than was expected in the first place. Add that to your extremely rude habit of staying alive-"

            "So you _did _send the clones."

            "Clones? What clones?"

            "Nevermind."

            "Continuing…The man up there intends to get serious. Just to avoid any unpleasantness, he's given you this one chance to quit. Roll over in your next match, and you might live. Go home. This doesn't concern you in the slightest."

            "Bullshit."

            Silence. For the second time, all eyes turned to Ryan.

            "Half a million people died in Southtown, and you expect us to forget it? Even better, one of our own was iced by Zero. And now what? We head back to Singapore? No way."

            He followed it up with a very eloquent gesture.

            Foxy went pale with rage. Visibly fighting to stay composed, she decided to intervene. 

            "Zero was a rogue. And now, he's dead. As far as you should be concerned, it's over."

            "Not to me it isn't."

            Jiazheng this time, eliciting several raised eyebrows of surprise.

            "It's the Cartel's fault. From what I've heard…Whatever it was, you people don't particularly deserve to live. Or at least, not in this world."

            Chan let out a gentle cough. He stood up, signifying that the meeting was over.

            "Well, you have your answer. Guys? Let's go."

            There was the _hiss _of steel leaving a scabbard, and the business end of a rapier was shoved against his throat. Foxy held it by the hilt, the blade never wavering.

            "And there is one more thing."

            Unperturbed, Chan looked down at the sword. Worse came to worse, he intended to use The World to dodge and then blast her with warpflame. That was when he remembered that they didn't work here. Chan began to sweat.

            "If you walk away from our offer, you will be facing the NESTS team in the finals."

            "Wasn't that what we were expecting in the first place?"

            "Let me rephrase that. If you pass this up, you'll have made four new enemies. We'll have to become foes. Just to let you know what you're getting into…"

            Chan shrugged. 

            "So be it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

            He walked off quickly, not even bothering to look back. Jiazheng got up, and quickly left, all too anxious to get away. Ryan was the last one to leave. He turned back once, and spoke a single word that carried tonnes of menace:

            "Later."                        

            And then he too was gone.

            Foxy let out a sigh, slumping back down into her seat.

            "That went as well as could be expected. I never expected them to agree, anyway. Frankly speaking, those kids don't know what they're getting into."

            Diana nodded sympathetically, snagging a bottle and two glasses from a passing waiter. Promptly filling up a glass, she took a long swig, before answering.

            "Don't blame yourself. That was a _stupid _suggestion by Ignis, by the start. He'll never understand it. Should I begin the preparations?"

            "For now, just shut up and pour me a drink. I'll have to think about what I'm going to tell the others."

            "You're going to need more than _a _drink, then."

***************

Back Again…

            Relatively nonplussed, Andro sat stiffly at the sofa, watching the _other _DHS team, formerly known as the Cartel Team, ransack his residence.

            Yiming was seated in a corner, resting in a chair way too small for him. He sipped coffee from a ridiculously undersized mug, holding the small tumbler between thumb and forefinger. Claire was somewhere in the kitchen, searching for some decent food. Judging from the muffled clanks and thuds, she wasn't enjoying much success.

            Alvin and Karmen were busily emptying out the contents of two large backpacks, dumping them in an untidy heap on the coffee table. A small pile of weapons, bracers books and other odd junk soon cluttered up the area, scratching and denting the surface.

            Chan, Ryan and Jiazheng chose that time to get home.

            Jiazheng spotted the split door first. He burst in at a run, scabbard already aflame. Ryan barrelled in next, fists glowing with electricity. Chan, the slowest of the lot, staggered in panting, clutching both handguns.

            "YOU! No mercy _this _time!"

            "Up for _another _beating? Just bring it!"

            "Don't worry, guys. They're okay."

            There was a moment of total quiet. Each side stared at the other, thinking very fast. Ryan broke the silence first, blinking rapidly.

            "Andro? The hell is going on?"

            Andro tried to explain.

            The others tried to understand.  

***************

Even Later…

            The situation got progressively more and more surreal.

            The DHS team sat on one side of the table, with the former Cartel team on the other. Claire had found several packets of instant noodles from somewhere in the kitchen, leaving the entire group all happily munching away. This helped settle their nerves somewhat, turning it into an almost casual discussion. 

            Almost.

            "The question is, what are you guys doing here?"

            Chan had been saying that a lot.

            "Uh…Due to our loss, NESTS decided to terminate our contracts prematurely. Note the added emphasis on the word 'terminate'. Anyway, we didn't take it too well, and decided to fight back. After the bodies fell to dust, we gathered up everything at hand, and made a run for it."

            "Oookkayyy…I can buy that. But why us? Why come here?"

            "There was nowhere else to go. Alvin suggested approaching another team, but we knew that there was no way anyone would trust us."

            "Neither do we, in fact."

            "Bite me. My group knows your vendetta against the Cartel, and we would like to help you in any way we can. See the stuff on the table? It's all yours."

            Andro and Jiazheng instantly reached for the pile, looked at each other, and drew back. Trying very, very hard to contain his excitement, Andro decided to ask a question.

            "What's the catch? Everyone has a price."

            Karmen smiled. She had them hooked, and she knew it.

            "Now let's get down to business. Yiming? The map."

            The huge man removed a large square of paper from some hidden pocket, clearing a space in the heap with a sweep of his hand. Using a nearby orb as a paperweight, he pinned the entire thing down.

            "This is a plan of a weapons factory, somewhere in Tokyo. It's only a short distance from here, and the place where we received these items. The factory also supplies advanced technology to NESTS allies, and serves as a temporary base for its troops."

            "And you want us to?"

            "Destroy it. Full wrath-of-God treatment, fire raining from the skies and all that. No one gets out alive, and we leave a crater in our wake. After all…"

            "…A group of overpowered self-inserts should be able to do it?"

            "Exactly."

            Alvin finished the last of his noodles. Shoving the bowl aside, he snapped his fingers in their faces, smiling sardonically.

            "So, poof. Everyone's happy. You get your items, we get payback, NESTS loses an important factory. There's no way you can lose in this!"

            "The alternative is?"

            "We kill you here and now, and attack the place ourselves. NOT a good idea."

            Chan sighed. Always the rhetoric, and then the threats. Typical of Alvin. In the end, the decision wasn't wholly his own. He _did _have to give the others some semblance of free will, after all. 

            "Well, guys? Your opinion?"

            Andro shrugged, his glittering eyes fixed hungrily on the weaponry just out of reach. His minor mystical senses had gone nova, sensing the gelatinous aura of power that literally clung to the objects like a shroud

            "Let's go for it."

            "Jiazheng?"

            "Whatever the others say."

            "Ryan? "

            "Will we ever get another chance like this? Why not? Besides, it'll be _fun_."

            "Looks like you have your answer, Karmen…But, on two conditions."

            "Name them."

            "First: You're coming with us to this…factory, as you put it. We don't trust you enough to go alone. Second: You'll help us sort through the stuff you brought. We'll need to know _how _the objects works. And of course…You'll tell us where you got them, won't you?"

            Karmen winced.

            "Alright. Shall we get started?"

***************

            "Useless."

            Ryan tossed a cracked orb aside, letting it thud back onto the table. The thing soon joined the larger of two untidy heaps, piled haphazardly on the floor.

            "Almost every damn thing here is cracked, broken or exhausted. Where'd you get this junk from, anyway?" 

            Claire shook an empty bracer, trying to elicit some response. With a sigh, she let the thing drop, catching her breath before replying.

            "We just grabbed everything we could get our hands on. Most of it comes from…Shall we say…Their previous owners? The rest comes from the very factory we intend to attack."

            Andro looked up from where he'd been digging through the small set of working items. Already, some of the more powerful working ones were concealed underneath his jacket. Most were merely magical explosives, one-use time bombs, but others seemed to have unique functions he couldn't quite decipher.

            Chan sat cross-legged on the floor, calmly browsing through an unmarked, battered brown book. A salvaged box of ammunition was placed next to him, filled to the brim with mixed ordnance of all types. He'd taken the book before everyone else, leaving all the other items.

            Ryan weighed a pair of spiked gloves in his hands, wondering why they felt unnaturally cold. With a shrug, he slipped them on, taking a few practice jabs at the air. Yiming watched him with amusement, as if Ryan's efforts were some form of elaborate entertainment.

            "Go ahead, big man. Laugh. Or at least, if Claire finds the right button to make you do so."

            That got a response. Yiming rose to his feet, taking a single earthshaking step in Ryan's direction. At some silent signal from Alvin, he sat back down, returning to his outward calm.

            Karmen scooped up a chipped arrowhead, cut her finger on it, and swore. Tossing the thing carelessly to one side, she wiped the blood off on her pants.

            "This sucks. I've heard Ignis has been collecting every artefact he could get his hands on, but I expected much higher quality than this…This trash. Chan? Put the damn book down and HELP ME!"

            No response. Chan continued reading, lost in his own little world. 

            "I'm warning you…"

            Jiazheng stepped into the girl's way, blocking her off from his friend. 

            "Don't push it, Karmen. Leave him alone."

            "Then YOU help me. March."

            Andro picked up an oddly curved, sheathed sword. He tossed it to Jiazheng dismissively, returning to his browsing of the more interesting items.

            "Take this, kid. Swords aren't really useful to me."

            The swordsman caught the weapon, hefting its light weight. He staggered, almost overbalancing. The thing was far too light for its size, lighter even than his own scabbard…

            "Alvin, what's this?"

            The psycho shonen looked up. He gave Jiazheng's new sword a glance, before waving a dismissive hand in its direction.

            "Useless. A wooden sword, or something. Keep it, for all the good it'll do you."

            Jiazheng drew the wooden blade, more than slightly disappointed. Just for fun, he faked a slice at the coffee table, wondering whether the thing would even scratch the surface. Chan cast a warning glance at him, wondering what was going on in his head.

            "Jiazheng, put that down. We don't know what it does."

            Claire gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs.

            "Forget it, Chan. Let the boy have his fun-"

            ***SHIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNKKKKKKK***

            The blade went right through. Sliced in half, the table toppled in halves, sending bowls tumbling to the floor. Everyone in the room looked up, their eyes suddenly fixed on the razor-sharp wooden edge.

            "I ***LOVE*** THIS!!! WAY COOL!!!!" Jiazheng yelled. 

            Alvin cleared his throat, then looked at the four Dunmanians, and the

Big-Ass Sword (tm) Jiazheng held, and thought better of it. 

            "There's nothing worse than a man with a new toy," Ryan muttered.

 "Maybe we should ask him to give it back?"

"Then YOU ask him."

"Hell no."

Karmen decided to bring the impromptu salvage to an end, hammering on the ruined table with her fists for attention.

"Alright. That's enough people. Everything on use is on one side, everything else is on the other. We'll be going now, okay?"

There was no answer. Chan kept reading. Andro ran his finger along the brilliant metal of his miniature chainsaw, now sporting several highly unauthorized modifications. Jiazheng sliced the air, giggling to himself. Ryan flung punches at the speed of sound, the sharp _crack_ of lightning punctuating each strike. 

They barely noticed when the other four let themselves out.

***************

Chan was amazed by the sheer amount of knowledge he now held in his hands. Forget the ammunition. When he was done with this, he'd have so many doomsday spells, he wouldn't know what to do with them all.

Of course, it would take time to study. A lot of it, in fact. But several measures could be implemented instantly, starting with Requiem. 'The binding and control of spiritual entities', eh? Sounded worth a look. 

And what was that? 'Combustion and the power inherent in chaos magic'? Even better. He held the greatest treasure of the entire horde in his hands. Sure, most of the writing was scrambled and twisted, forming alien glyphs and symbols that burned themselves into his brain. But wasn't it a worthwhile sacrifice? 

Forbidden knowledge was the key to power.

And who wouldn't want more power?

***************

Ryan kept up his shadowboxing, relishing each and every brief burst of electricity released. Fast, light and deadly, these gloves suited him perfectly. The minor spikes at the knuckles looked cool too, glowing with barely-controlled lightning the moment he concentrated. Add that to the matching bracers, and the combination was simply too deadly to resist. 

To Ryan, speed was life. Only dead guys actually spent all their time standing still, something which wasn't going to happen to Ryan for a long time. He let off a full-powered body-charge, sending tendrils of electricity crackling in all directions. 

And then there were the _rest _of the borrowed objects to consider. Andro wasn't the only one who'd been sneaking things into his pockets.

A smile spread across Ryan's face, as he now considered what he could now do. Even better, considering what he _shouldn't _do, but _would _widened his grin even further. 

***************

This was a happy day for Alistair 'Andro' Gillus.

Evidently, the others didn't know the true value of what they'd found. Watching Chan read that stupid book and Ryan punch at empty air like an idiot was almost depressing. Enough items to equalize the equation now lay hidden in the folds of Andro's clothes, ranging in power and purpose. 

Who cared if his abilities weren't up to the mark? The weapons he now had more than compensated for his deficiency. Even if the 'Glaive' he carried around was too big for the arena, there were many other things he now had that weren't.

And soon, the world would tremble.

Mwahahaha.

***************

Jiazheng swung his sword happily, humming a merry tune. Well, it looked like he'd gotten the best of the deal once again. Though made of wood, the blade was incredibly sharp, and far stronger than it looked. Every force he directed at it failed completely, simply glancing right off.

The air itself seemed to scream at being cut, as the sword sliced great swathes of wind through it. There was a barely perceptible noise, as air rushed back in to fill the sudden vacumn.

Gloves? Books? Explosives?

All nothing when compared to this. 

With a smile, Jiazheng sheathed the weapon, sliding it into his scabbard. Despite the obvious difference in shape and size, the sword fit perfectly. Faint green flame licked around the hilt, not even scorching the wood.

A swordsman wasn't complete without a decent blade. And one had just fallen into Jiazheng's hands...

***************

            The meeting broke up, as everyone headed back to their rooms to experiment with their new toys. There was a definite tension in the air, as each boy tried to gauge what someone else had received, and how useful it would be to him.

            Chan ended it quickly, laying down a few fast rules to prevent everything from degenerating into chaos.

            "Listen up. I know that we've all received some good stuff, but I just want to make a few points clear. First, no experimentation…Too much, at least. I don't want Andro to blow off the roof with something while we sleep. Second, no taking from the 'junk' pile, for basically the same reason. Third…"

            "Shut it, Chan. I don't have to listen to you any longer."

            Andro walked off, leaving Chan staring in astonishment.

            "See you, man. Don't worry…I won't destroy anything expensive. Yet."

            Ryan left too, shutting and locking the door behind him.

            "Tell me this later, okay? I need to find out _exactly _what I can do with this."

            Even _Jiazheng _strode off! The humiliation!

            Ah, well. There didn't seem to be much Chan could do about it. But it didn't matter. Removing the book from his jacket again, Chan toed the box of munitions into his room. 

            Looking left and right to make sure that no one was watching him, he closed and barred the door. 

            "Requiem."

            The monster flashed into existence again, roaring its fury at being disturbed. An evil grin spreading across his face, Chan flipped the book open, and turned to a certain page. 

            "And now…Let us continue our discussion of your disobedience."

            Despite its massive, armoured bulk and razor-edged weapons, Requiem shuddered. 

            For the first time, it knew a very human emotion: fear.

***************

NESTS Base...

            Ignis stalked the base, in a black mood. His cloak fluttered out behind him in an unseen wind, as Ignis lashed out at everything and anything within reach. Telekinesis gouged holes in the solid steel walls. Fireballs detonated in non-stop blasts, levelling doors and incinerating unfortunate personnel.

            Most of the base's staff cowered in the secure living quarters, as far from their leader as possible. They were prudent enough not to upset him during one of _his _rages, at least. 

            At last, exhausted and spent, Ignis slumped back onto his throne, which had miraculously escaped total destruction. Very, very slowly, a trembling clerk emerged from behind a barred, secured door. He handed a file to Ignis, sketched a quick bow, and ran like hell.

            With a growl, Ignis flung it aside, smashing a priceless vase flown in from Italy. He already _knew _the contents of the report before he opened it. Evidently, the ill-fated Cartel team had escaped captivity, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Thirty guards dead, ten wounded. Even worse, they'd snatched most of the artefacts he'd carefully collected over the years.

            Flipping impatiently through the list of objects lost, Ignis ended up cursing again. They'd really taken everything in reach. Most of the items had merely been odd junk, pawned off to allies as curiosities or for favours, but there'd been a few decent items in the lot.

            With an effort, he forced himself to be calm. They couldn't have gotten far. All he needed to do was to wait, till anything appeared on the black market for sale. And then Ignis would have them.

            He hoped.

            Added to the Kyo Kusanagi, DHS, Iori AND the K' problems, this was fast becoming a big headache. Without a doubt, it was time to call in the big guns. Once again, all who opposed Ignis would fall, crushed by his sheer intellect and great mental might.

            As it should be.

            Like a spider in his web, Ignis plucked another string, sending more insects scurrying to do his bidding. Soon, he reminded himself.

            Soon. 

(Sorry for taking so long to update, but fanfiction.net seemed to be down, and my computer crashed halfway through this chapter, forcing me to start again. Rest assured I'll still be writing.)         


	9. Esaka Forever

**Chapter 9: Esaka Forever**

Tokyo, KOF VIP Hotel...

            Shingo Yabuki sat on the cool marble floor of the suite, legs folded in a lotus position. His eyes were closed, and his teeth gritted with effort. The teenager was calm. He was collected. Nothing could disturb his composure.

            He was kidding nobody.

            "KUSANGIIIIIIII-SANNNNNNNNN!!!! This isn't working!!!!!"

            Silence.

            "Kusangi-san?"

            "Uh, you're doing just fine, Shingo! Keep it up!!"

            Juggling a plate of microwaved pizza and a cold beer, Kyo Kusangi walked out from the kitchen, trying very hard not to be heard by his earnest disciple. It wasn't that the kid had no skill. His participation in the _previous _tournaments had proved that, at least.

            Shingo simply had NO talent. None whatsoever.

            Try as he might, he couldn't even produce a spark of fire on the best of days, let alone on the worse. Even worse, he kept bugging Kyo to teach him more and more, forming a kind of half-baked ripoff of Magatama. Though it actually worked, something about it chilled Kyo to the bone.

            Very quietly, Kyo began to sneak back to his own room. He intended to leave Shingo there for about half an hour. Then he would go through the standard 'Damn, better luck next time routine'. Maybe he could have some peace for once...

            ***FHOOMMMMM***

            Kyo's snack crashed to the floor, completely forgotten. What the hell was that? 

            The acrid stench of burning wood filled the air, complete with floating cinders and the non-stop crackle of flames. The entire wall was now simply _gone, _with a huge hole burned all the way to the bathroom. Shingo stood where he was, grinning like a little kid. His clothes smothered, and his headband was singed, but he looked alright. 

            Unbelieving, Kyo stood perfectly still, frozen with shock. His beer was pouring all over his pants, and he didn't even notice it. He tried to say something. 

            "How..."

            Shingo was capering like a schoolgirl.

            "I finally got firepower, Kusanagi-san!"

            "How...I mean...Uh...Great, Shingo! You've mastered everything I've taught you!"

            "Can I go and show Benimaru and Goro-san? Pleaseeeeeee?"

            It was like watching an eager puppy beg to go out and play. Still partially on autopilot, Kyo waved a hand dismissively, even as his earstwhile student bolted for the door. Very calmly, he stared at the ruins, where a wall had been moments ago. Carefully, he retrieved his fallen can...Only to smash it on the floor.

            And then he swore.

************

A ramshackle hotel somewhere else...

            ***KNOCK-KNOCK***

            "Chan? It's almost time for the fight. Wake up, man."

            No response. Ryan rapped on the door again.

            "Wake up. We have to go."

            Still no answer.

            Ryan pounded on the door, louder this time. 

            "Drat... We're gonna have to break it down." 

            "Not again," Andro groaned. "Just try the knob." 

            "You actually think he left it unlocked?" Ryan reached out and grabbed the knob. "Fine, just to shut you up." He turned the knob and the door slowly swung open, creaking inwards to reveal complete darkness beyond. 

            "See?" 

            "Huh. Imagine that."

            Ryan slammed the door shut, and promptly shattered it with a flying Hiryu-No-Ken. 

"Now _that _should wake him up."

"Damn, it's dark in here. Should we turn on the lights?"

"Why not?"

A dim lightbulb flickered to life inside the small room, revealing the drastic changes Chan had made. Symbols covered every wall, seemingly written in a flowing, non-stop hand. Something about them made Andro's eyes slide away from the words, leaving him feeling vaguely nauseous.

"Jesus Christ."

Scorch marks were everywhere. There was the sickeningly-sweet smell of burnt flesh, filling the air like a perfume. Right in the middle of the devastation sat Chan, looking for all the world like some kind of holocaust victim. He was busy scribbling on the floor, drawing some kind of…Pentagram? 

Ryan felt sick. There was something fundamentally wrong here.

"Chan? Maybe you should…"

His voice trailed off, as their impromptu leader got to his feet, turning to face them. There was a new hollowness in his face, as if he'd seen something not meant for human comprehension. The Mage Cannon at his side now glowed a dull, evil red, sending palpable waves of disgust radiating through the room.

"Yes? Is it time to go already?"

Nod.

"…Could I ask what happened here?"

Chan tapped the side of his head slowly, wiping his other hand on his pants. They were visibly shaking, as if every movement was an effort.

"The book. It's the damn book."

They understood. Chan's obsession with the supernatural had just taken him to overdose. Ryan didn't know what was in the book, but he didn't particularly intend to find out. Eerily, the cursed thing rested in plain sight, lying open on the table.

"You read through everything?"

"It's all in my head now. Word-"

He swallowed. The clock chimed, ringing at 6.13. 

"Perfect."

"We can discuss this later. Can we go now-_please?_"

"Okay-But don't disturb the pentacle."

Very carefully, Ryan froze, withdrawing his foot from the almost-scuffed markings on the floor. He shuddered slightly, not even wanting to know what it held.

With a disturbingly bright smile, Chan tugged his trenchcoat on.

"ROCK! We're going to WAR!"

He was first out of the door, leaving Andro and Ryan staring at his fast retreating back. Slowly, the two looked at each other, shrugged and followed him. They could deal with insanity. They _all _understood insanity.

************

KOF Stadium…

            "**FROM OUR VERY OWN ****TOKYO****…PRESENTING…THE ESAKA TEAM!!!"**

A speed metal remix of 'Esaka Forever' blared out of the speakers, complete with nasty, clashing echoes. Half the audience clutched their collective ears. The other half cheered, somehow managing to drown out the incredible flood of noise.

Shingo Yabuki vaulted into the ring with confidence, to a standing ovation from the inebriated crowd. He adjusted his white headband, aiming a classic finger-snap at the stands. 

"This year, Shingo's not just an edit character!"

A group of people, normally perfectly sane, ripped away long coats to reveal…School uniforms? The stand resounded with noise, as the fanboys cheered their hero on! 

Andro tapped his foot impatiently on the concrete floor, irritated with all the delays. Not-too-subtly, he coughed, trying to get Shingo's attention. Too busy grandstanding, the schoolboy barely noticed him.

Realizing he was the centre of attention, Shingo went a little…Crazy.

"Look at me, Kusanagi-san! I'm not just a cool fighter…I'm an SNK SUPERSTAR! YEAH!!!"

Andro cast a longing glance at the intercom overhead, hoping against hope for the fight to start soon. He got his wish. Just barely audible over the din, the speakers crackled into life.

"Testing…Testing…Testing one, two, three. Ahem…ROUND ONE, FIGHT!"

"Watch this! MOETARU!"

Shingo snapped his fingers, summoning a minute flame at the tip of his fingers. Just barely, he managed to keep it going, much to the amusement of all watching. He cast a triumphant glance at his idol, like a puppy expecting praise.

Kyo didn't say much. He was too busy facefaulting.

With the round officially begun, Alistair broke into an attack run, blades snapping forward like shears in the wind. Seeing this, the rest of the Esaka Team began to frantically gesticulate, trying to get Shingo to STOP SHOWING OFF, DAMNIT, and _turn AROUND._

They didn't have much luck. 

Shingo froze in place, attempting to make some sense of the weird and extremely frantic gestures aimed his way.

"What? Say again?"

Anticipating a chance for the ultimate cheap shot, Andro bore towards him, running faster and faster. Ghost images trailed behind him, as he accelerated to maximum speed. 

The crowd fell silent. Something _very _painful was about to happen and they didn't want to miss.

With a shrug, Shingo gave up. He looked around, wondering why everyone was suddenly so quiet. In the stands, his teammates hid their faces in their hands.

Then Andro punched him a sweet one in De Nutz.

Every male watching winced in sympathy, crossing their legs at the sound of the solid impact. Some looked slightly ill.

Shingo staggered, but didn't fall. His eyes glazed over, and he wobbled slightly.

Andro took a cautious step back. That _had _to hurt.

Slowly, Shingo braced himself against the wall, moving as gingerly as possible. Two octaves too high, he squeaked.

"ow"

The schoolboy wasn't out of the fight yet. Silently, he thanked his personal kami for the lightweight guards he wore. But then again, it occurred that if he asked very nicely, he might possibly be taken into the next life right away.

Somehow, he managed to tag Andro with a weak, fast Dokugami punch. Shingo followed it up with a full-out Shingo Kick, grimacing as it strained his already-bruised netherregions. 

Alistair spun with the blow, his glass visor shattering from the impact. Spitting out blood from a cut lip, he waded in, slashing and stabbing with both blades. Shingo's  headband was promptly shortened by the first few centimetres, and a nasty gash opened up in his cheek. 

The schoolboy let out a hiss of agony. He kicked Andro in the shins, sending the assassin doubling over in pain. Andro promptly returned the favour with a _fast _Blitz Kick, connected with all but the last hit.

They broke apart, each shoving the other away with a Oniyaki and a Aerial Slicer respectively. Cautiously, the fighters began to pace around each other, creating a slowly-tightening orbit of death.

Jiazheng leapt in, cutting loose with the Musashi no Shuugeki. Shingo blocked the energy wave, no-selling the sword-slash. He Giant Swung Jiazheng into the nearest wall, wincing a little as the blade cut into his arm.

Content to play the waiting game, Andro signalled to Jiazheng to leave, simply staying where he was. Shingo launched a series of palm strikes, testing Andro's defenses. He could feel the fires within himself, the results of Kyo's teachings, and was simply waiting for the right moment to unleash them. 

That moment, he knew, wasn't long in coming. 

Andro swapped to a one-handed fighting style, his other hand drawing one of the many curious items he now carried. So this kid thought he could win? Well, not if Andro had anything to say about it.

***********

            The Esaka Team watched the fight from the stands with the experience of veterans, trying to analyze their opponents.

            "I feel that Shingo's doing quite well, Kusanagi."

            Goro proffered that short phrase, then promptly fell       silent again. He didn't have much to say, and his old friend probably knew more about this than he did.

            Kyo didn't say a word. Shingo was tough, Kyo had to give him that. One solid, _running _punch to the cajones would've put anyone out, padding or no. But somehow, Shingo was still on his feet, even making several daring attacks that were forcing Alistair back.

            Benimaru, however, had something else on his mind.

            "That Andro…He's _sooo _hot. Mmm…"

            Both of his friends looked at him in disgust, and quickly scooted several feet away. Try as they might, they'd never gotten used to his…abnormal orientation. Benimaru looked at them with something like surprise.

            "What's wrong with that? Because I'm…happy, it doesn't mean I don't have needs too!"

            "Benimaru…"

            "Yes?"

            "You're a screwed-up homo."

            The blonde pouted.

            "You're such a he, Kyo."

            "And I fervently hope I stay that way."

***********

            Andro dug into his pockets, quickly removing a small vial. If he guessed right, inhaling this would make him move twice as fast as…

            "SHINNNNGGOOO KICKKKK!!!"

            The precious bottle went tumbling from his hands, smashing onto the floor with an acidic _hiss. _Andro looked up at the smirking schoolboy, something eerily like madness flickering across his face for a second.

            "Look what you've done."

             "What of it?"

            "It's going to cost you."

            And cost Shingo it did. Shingo went for a baseball slide into Andro's feet, merely to be caught, lifted up, and slammed right back down. Rolling to his feet, Shingo threw a high kick, hoping to put some distance between him and the merciless assassin. Andro caught the kick, and promptly gave it a vicious twist.

            With a horrible snapping noise, Shingo's leg twisted. He went down again, clutching his wounded limb. Only a quick roll saved him from the follow-up slash, wrenching his foot even more.

            "I hope this isn't all you have," Andro noted, striding in to close once more. He tested the razor edge of a knife on his finger, almost pricking them. Shingo, deciding that he definitely wasn't getting anywhere with this, felt that his best option at this point was to attempt to call upon the newly- found powers hidden away inside him. 

            Shingo concentrated deeply, feeling the fire deep within him begin to swell and come to life as though an unchained beast let free to unleash devastating power. He began to quake slightly, glowing red-hot. Fire crawled down his arm, as he called upon the flames that now lay deep within himself.

            No fool, Andro began to back away.

Shingo screamed, a primal scream of war that shook the entire stadium. With a lunge of his arm, he let off a tiny speck of flame that would have had serious trouble lighting a birthday candle. 

***********

"Good for him," Kyo nodded, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. "At the rate that he's progressing, he may have the art mastered within fifteen years." 

"Perhaps not so good for him in the meantime, then," Goro politely suggested, as they both watched Andro slide forward, and pummel the crap out of Shingo with his Final Showdown. 

"Probably," Kyo agreed. 

"Ha!" Some fool in a pink gi laughed, a few seats away from them. "That has to be the saddest attempt to throw fire _ever_!" 

Kyo turned a flat, menacing look of hatred at him. The man shut up, and hurriedly backed off.

***********

            Shingo had nothing left by the time Andro was done. He laid another five attacks into the defenceless schoolboy, followed by a massive upward launcher that sent him sky-high.

            "You know," Shingo thought blearily, as he ascended towards the heavens, "Maybe this means something. Perhaps one should simplify one's attacks and forego flashy offence in favour of a straightforward, effective offensive strategy--"

            Andro vanished into thin air, reappearing forty feet up behind Shingo. Twirling dramatically, he dove down in a slamming attack that knocked the last of Shingo's strength from him. 

            "...never mind. Silly me."

***********

**            "Next up…PRESENTING…BENIMARU!!!!"**

            The blonde, questionably orientated fighter hurtled into the ring, blowing kisses to the audience as he ran.

            "***Mwah*** ***Mwah*** I love you all!"

            Half the guys in the seats cheered, causing the other half to back nervously away from them. Some of the girls began flinging flowers, photographs, phone numbers…(Hotel keys?) into the ring, receiving several odd looks from their friends.

            Andro simply stood there calmly, sizing up his opponent. He drew his blades again, and quickly shifted into a defensive stance. The moment the fight bell rang, Benimaru was on him like a whirlwind, striking left and right with fast punches and kicks.

            It didn't help that every strike packed a potent charge behind it.

            Alistair blocked and blocked, backing away again and again. Every time he parried, Benimaru blasted electricity through him, sending minute sparks crackling down his body. Face frozen in a grimace of pain, Andro kept on retreating, with no chance to retaliate.

            "HYPER…RAIKOU KEN!!!"

            "AAAAAAAARRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

            All the metal Andro carried made a perfect conductor for the 100 volt charge that promptly flowed through his body. Singed and smoking, he toppled, every cell in his body numb.

            The audience groaned, as Andro's charred form hit the ground. He struggled to get up, finally managing to pull himself to one knee.

            "SHADOW EDGE!!!"

            "RAJIN KEN!!!"

            More electricity pulsed and arced, neatly swallowing up the triple blades of shadow aimed him way. Andro flipped to his feet, somewhat unsteady. His vision was blurring, and his hands kept trembling.

            Once again, Jiazheng leapt in, with a perfectly timed _kiai _yell. A Raijin Ken sent him back out the way he came in, even before he launched his emerald flame. Andro took the chance to roll away, trying to stop the spasmodic twitches from throwing off his fighting style. 

            This was like fighting a much stronger version of Ryan, what with the non-stop blitz assault, and the electricity that punctuated each strike. Frantically, his nerves jangling, Andro tried to think of something. 

            He took too long.

            "GEN'EI HURRICANE!!!"

            With no other way to dodge, Andro tried to go for the Army Of One, even as Benimaru's illusionary duplicates charged him. To his credit, he was close. Depleted by his previous fight, Andro was just a second too late on the draw.

            Seven hits, and seven jaunty poses later, Andro went down one last time. He wasn't getting up.

************

            "Ryan, don't you want me to handle this instead? I mean, that guy's…Abnormal. And…He's fights just like you!"

            Ryan wasn't even listening. He pulled on his snappy new gloves with undue force, looking extremely disturbed and pissed at the same time. There was no way he was going to lose, at least not to this disgusting HOMO! 

            "Don't worry, guys. He's going down…Yesterday."

            The boy somersaulted into the ring just for the hell of it, landing solidly on the hard floor. He stood, and promptly got ready to fight.

            "You know, I make it a point not to hit _ladies,_"

            The crowd gasped. Benimaru went white.

            "But in your case…I'll make an exception."

            "Aaargh! I keep on telling them, I'm just 'happy'! I'm NOT a…A…"

            "A trans?"

            The crowd _oohed._

"Don't say it like it's an insult."

            "Isn't it?"

            Silence.

************

            "Well said," Goro rumbled, clapping appreciatively.

            "I've been trying to get him to understand that for _years_."

            There was a long silence. Both man stared at each other for several seconds. Then, as one, both spoke. 

"Why do we even keep him around, anyway?"

************

Knowing that he was close to getting a reaction, Ryan kept on talking, watching with interest as Benimaru's face went through a wide palette of colours, getting redder and redder.

"Is that you hair, 

"You know, I bet if you wore a _dress, _you could easily pass as a cheap _female _whore somewhere in the Geylang region of Singa…"

"RRRRRAGGH!!"

Benimaru could take no more. Seething with rage, he charged, hair spiked straight up by the electricity he was channelling. Ryan dropped into a crouch, bracing for the impact.

"BIG MISTAKE! YOU JUST MADE IT…PERSONAL!!!"

Benimaru redoubled his speed even more. Ryan ate a _fast _Raijin Ken, followed by a quick set of kicks to his knees. Hopping over the last, he managed a quick spinning kick, which was in turn hopped over, and countered by a drill kick from above.

Rolling with the blow, Ryan grabbed Benimaru and sent both rolling across the floor, pausing only to slam his opponent's head into the ground. Turning a quick triple cartwheel, Ryan fired off a quick burst of lightning, slashing a quick line in the ground between himself and his opponent.

Rubbing his suddenly sore back and skull, Benimaru stood, blinking in astonishment as Ryan blasted more electricity. He easily absorbed it with another Rajin Ken…Just barely. The boy was _good_.

"Hey! Where'd you learn that from?"

"Maybe I simply didn't spend so much time chasing after _boys._"

"Okay. Goro, sic him."

"What?"           

Goro leapt from the stands, landing with earthshaking force. He grabbed Ryan in a Judo hold, and tossed him straight up…Then leapt, caught Ryan and-

"Oh, SHIT!!!"

-piledrove him into the ground.

Jiazheng and Chan winced and looked away, as a sudden eruption of small pebbles and stones rained down on the entire arena. 

Very slowly, Ryan crawled out from the fresh crater he'd just created. A nasty new bruise mark decorated his face, and he moved like every bone in his body was sore. But he was definitely standing.

The audience cheered, eager to watch this match continue.

Defiantly, Ryan took his attack stance again, switching to a one-handed pose, palm forward. He was covered in rock dust, his black clothes now a depressing shade of grey.

Benimaru shrugged casually, slightly surprised at his tenaciousness.

"Well, if that's the way you want it…GEN'EI HUURICANE!!"

A blue duplicate of electricity lunged towards Ryan at incredible speed, tearing up the floor as it went. Ryan stood perfectly still, gathering his power, watching as Benimaru hurtled closer…closer…

"DESTINY CYCLONE!!!" (Formerly known as the Phnoeix Cyclonic.)

His opponent ran straight into the freak tornado, sucked in by the whirling vortex. Benimaru promptly got an uncomfortable impression of a blender, as gale-force winds flung him back and forth, yanking him brutally left and right.

With a flick of his hand, Ryan banished the cyclone, dumping his foe back onto the hard ground.

"Not so good, eh? Maybe it's time for the new generation to take over!"

Running like he'd never run before, Ryan gathered his feet together-

-And leapt.

Even as Benimaru descended, Ryan leapt straight up, in an incredible vertical leap. He seemed to soar like a bird, arms outspread. At the apex of his leap, Ryan turned his flight into a kick, and screamed down like a swooping hawk towards Benimaru.

Time seemed to slow.

"He's going to turnbuckle him," Chan breathed. His hand-held video camera clicked away madly, recording every second he could capture. Jiazheng stared bug-eyed, simply not believing it.

But Ryan hadn't counted on Benimaru's experience. The man turned his fall into a smooth handspring, flipping backwards to avoid the onrushing strike. Realising his error, Ryan tried to pull up, tried to stop, but he was already too late.

***CRUNCH***

More concrete shattered. Ryan crunched into the floor, _hard. _His feet went straight in, just ahead of Benimaru. Ryan tried to rise, trying to close in for the Final Symphony.

He couldn't move an inch. His foot was stuck.

*************

"God Almighty," Jiazheng murmured.

"His feet are trapped n the concrete. He's gone."

Chan gave him a light shove.

"Don't write off Ryan yet. He'll find a way out of this…I hope…"

*************

"Crapcrapcrapcrap…"

Swearing, Ryan tugged harder, realising he was in deep shit. Benimaru knew it too. Knowing his foe was helpless, he advanced, shocking his now-bedraggled hairdo back upright.

"No way to fight back know? That's so…"

A fist slammed deep into Ryan's stomach, sending him doubling over and retching. Another one shocked his head back, knocking loose a tooth. Swaying back drunkenly, Ryan almost fell, held upright only by the concrete vise around his foot. More and more blows rained down on him, increasing in tempo and strength. Ryan tried to shield his face, still hauling at his foot. 

With a roar of frustration, he slammed his skull into Benimaru's forehead with all his might, eliciting a sickening _crunch _that resounded oddly through the enclosed stadium. An entire constellation of fireworks went off in Ryan's head, temporarily blinded him.

Benimaru fell back, letting off an oddly feminine squeal. Both hands clutched his face, concealing the blood that trickled from his shattered nose. 

"You bode my _node_!!"

He sounded almost accusing, as if that was the worse thing that anyone could've done to him. Knowing this was the last chance he was ever going to get, Ryan reached deep into himself for the strength, braced himself, and _pulled_. The ground around his foot began to crack, as Ryan hauled with the energy of desperation. With a sudden pop and a sucking noise, the vise gave, crumbling away as Ryan's leg emerged.

The crowd went wild.

He was free!

"Now…RYAN'S FINAL SYMPHONY!!!"

Glowing a disturbing shade of red, Ryan went _nuts. _He belted Benimaru with five punches, a set of twelve kicks that felt like they'd all connected at once, and a _massive _Hiryu-No-Ken that sent him hurtling all the way across the ring, to crash into the opposite arena wall. 

Very slowly, Ryan keeled over, catching himself against the wall. His strength was quickly draining from him like blood from an open wound. Sucking in deep breaths of air, he gingerly felt his myriad of wounds, wincing at his cracked rib.

If the other guy got up now, he was a dead-

Like some undead creature rising from the grave, Benimaru _got up. _His clothes were torn, his hairdo was wrecked, but both blackened eyes blazed with fury. Running like he'd run at the Lilith Fair, he quickly closed the distance between the two, raising a hand glimmering with electricity.

**_"HYPER…RAIJIN KENNNN!!!"_**

Ryan lit up like a light bulb. Bolt after bolt of electricity coursed through Ryan's veins, sending him twitching with convulsions like a headless chicken. Still with that flat stare, Benimaru turned up the current, increasing it to a level that would've killed a normal man.

Except that Ryan wasn't a normal man.

With a superhuman effort, Ryan brought his fist down onto Benimaru's skull, lashing out with a final, jarring blow. Both of them went down, toppling like felled trees in a thunderstorm. Ryan hit the ground first, with the solid _thunking _noise of a melon hitting the ground. Benimaru fell almost gracefully, seemingly floated back to softly alight. Of course, there was no doubt he wasn't getting up, make no mistake about.

*************

"AND NOW…PRESENTING…THE INVINCIBLE…THE UNBEATABLE …THE rarely defeated, ***cough*** Iori ***cough***… KYO KUSANAGI!!!"

The ovation that followed almost shook the place apart, resounding all the way up to the transparent dome that covered the entire area. Looking as confident and arrogant as he felt, Kyo Kusanagi himself stepped into the ring, without even bothering to grandstand for the audience.

His opponent was apparently some bespectacled teenager, dressed in a ridiculous-looking white trenchcoat that looked as if it'd been cut and pierced many time. The boy didn't even seem like a decent fighter, judging from his complete failure to assume any recognized fighting stance.

Kyo blinked once, suddenly feeling slightly disconcerted. Though Chan didn't _look _physically imposing, Kyo's senses could pick up something nearby that definitely was. He wasn't afraid: He had no reason to be afraid. It was just that events were

The fight bell rang, sounding the beginning of the battle.

Immediately, Chan opened fire, letting loose with whatever he could call to mind. Azure force bolts screamed through the air, warping and twisting reality as they flew. A massive flaming sigil followed right behind, razor-sharp edge cutting the air as it spiralled on.

Kyo took the attack head-on. He crossed his arms, summoned the flames to shield him, and _parried. _

*****THHOOOMMMMMM*****

Once again, gravel and stone went up everywhere, sending shrapnel hurtling back and forth, to ricochet among the audience seating. Fortunately for our fearless not-so-heroic hero, it ended up arching upwards, blasting out a window instead of Chan's brains. 

Frantically trying to remain cool, Chan muttered spell after spell under his breath, prayers to gods no one even knew now. A pentagram of protection drew itself on the floor around him, even as patterns of sigils began endlessly chasing themselves round his hands. 

"Nice trick, kid. A tad showy, don't you think? Are you trying to preen or something?"

 A nervous titter ran through the audience. 

Chan glared at him, not even bothering to dignify it with an answer.

"Requiem!"

Huge and twisted, the Stand interposed itself between him and Kyo, all claws and teeth. Unlike the previous versions, triple-marked runes of binding and control covered every available surface of the thing, crudely marked on by warpflame. Requiem was probably still traumatised by the crude way the ritual had been performed, but Chan didn't particularly care. 

"If it works, don't change it." 

Of course, he still wasn't used to the Stand's new appearance. Now, metal and flesh had seamlessly joined, giving the thing a quasi-organic, Terminator-style look. Maybe it was simply all the anime he watched that was getting to him.

Then again…

*************

Kyo stopped short in his tracks. 

"HEY! No one ever said anything about two-on-one!"

Kyo never was for descriptions. Requiem's head made it appear like a robo-terminator-monster of sorts where the skin fell off on the scalp, and sorta looked like Frankenstein with all the wires, but that was about the only interesting thing about it. Not that Kyo really cared for those big humanoid, spirits that some people used, anyway. Big helpers made big targets, and Magatama was all he needed. 

That was when the kid pulled a gun.

Dammit, seemed like everyone these days had a gun. It was a sick world he lived in, SICK! He wasn't particularly surprised when blast after blast of red force tore from the barrel, forcing him to weave like a maniac to dodge.

***BANG***

Kyo dropped flat.

***BANG***

He rolled.

***BANG***

Another defensive tumble, taking him closer and closer to his opponent.

***BANG***

A Matrix-esque armless cartwheel. He actually _felt _the breeze of the bullet as it tore past.

***KA-BLAM***

Kyo twisted, beginning to feel more than slightly irritated. Was the boy _ever _going to run out of ammo?

***KA-BLAM*** _ka-chunk_

"Oh, damn. I'm screwed."

He was _finally _out! Sheathing his fists in flame, Kyo stood up, casting a nasty glare at Chan. The student frantically began reloading, digging into his pockets for more rounds, even as he tried to keep an eye on his foe.

"And now…Game over, man! GAME OVVA!!!"

"Not yet! Requiem? _Erase _him."

Now that didn't sound good. The horror surged towards Kyo in a sudden rush, as Chan flung glowing rune after rune into it's back. Flesh hardened into steel, and the Stand's eyes shone a ruby-red in the light of arena.

Kyo let out a mental sigh, staying barely ahead of the barrage of fists aimed his way. It always seemed that there would be some kid with a vendetta everywhere, who intended to take out his frustrations on Kyo Kusanagi. 

He rolled right past the Stand in a blur of motion, tumbling all the way over to Chan, who'd almost finished reloading. A flame-encased right hook almost took Chan's head off, if not for the sudden, desperate dodge pulled off at the last moment. 

Chan pulled back, desperately signalling for Requiem to return. He knew he didn't have much chance of holding off the three-time winner of the KOF Tourney by himself, despite the magic that now flowed through him. To make things worse, Kyo was matching his speed exactly, a certain glint of vengeance in his eyes.

"SOUL BLAZE!!!"

Chan faked a spell-casting motion, raising his hands the way he always did. Kyo instantly blocked, expecting some particularly nasty projectile his way. Desperately, Chan promptly pistol-whipped him instead with the butt of the Mage Cannon, connecting with a solid blow to the temple.

More surprised than outraged, Kyo faltered, rubbing his sudden bruise. An extra-shiny Flintlock Dragon uppercut blew him away, giving Chan more breathing room. Still, it wasn't enough. There was no way it would be enough.

            Inky blackness flowed into Chan's hands, coating them with vaporous clouds of every-shifting chaos energy. He shuddered, feeling the rotting-meat taste and the filthy smell of the power, even as he tried to draw in all he could.

            Requiem finally pulled back to its master, way too late. With a growl, Chan banished it, turning his full attention to spellcasting. Dropping the strongest barrier he could summon between him and Kyo, he began pounding away with everything he had left. 

            Short-lived spectres flowed from him, reaching out with spectral talons to rend and tear. Flaming fists made short work of them, obliterating them before they even got close enough. A short hop took Kyo over a flickering blast of warpflame, taking him within spitting distance.

            Kyo took this opportunity to repay his tormentor in full. He let loose an onslaught of flame-covered punches at Chan, finishing off his chain with a hopping kick. The mage immediately rose back to a standing position, glaring at his assailant. 

            "You know…"

            The sigils floating around Chan's hands twisted and distorted, warped from within by the moiling chaos of warpfire. An almost-tangible aura began to shimmer in the air, as if the heat wave had suddenly returned.

            "You're making me angry. And…"

            "…Yeah, yeah. I won't like you when you're angry. So what's new? I don't like cheapasses like you much anyway."

            "SHUT UP! DIE!"

            Requiem overlaid Chan like a suit of living armour, moving in perfect precision with its wielder. The pentacle around him flared back to life once more, every line burning away to be filled in with stark black. 

            Chan's hands shone with concussive force. Kyo ducked, and the wall right behind him exploded, as if some incredible force had smashed into it. He gulped, feeling a neat part in his hair.

            Drawing the Mage Cannon again, Chan charged, gun booming. Requiem was just in front of him, jaws opened in a roar of rage and fury. Kyo met the assault with grim resolve, matching him blow-for-blow.

**            ***WHAM*****

            An Oniyaki caught Chan, singing his trenchcoat, and setting his hair light. 

_            *** KA-BLAM***_

            Frantically trying to beat out the sudden flames, Chan snapped off a quick shot. The bullet sliced off the tip of Kyo's ear, sending a trail of blood into the ear. He tried to fire again, but promptly got the gun kicked from his hand.

            Requiem made a serious attempt to flatten Kyo _through _the ground, snatching up a sizeable piece of debris. Another Oniyaki reduced it to dust, and a leaping axehandle slammed Chan right back down, as he tried to go for the Flintlock Dragon again.

            Snapping out harsh words of magic, Chan aimed a finger in Kyo's direction. Something black and hot punched through Kyo's shoulder, slicing flesh from bone. To his credit, Kyo barely flinched, performing a vicious baseball slide through Chan's ankles.

            The boy rolled away, somehow coming up with the Mage Cannon in hand. He said something singularly unedifying as he aimed, words that were thankfully lost in the roar in gunfire.

             Bolt after bolt of ruby force leapt from the handgun, leaving streaking red trails through the air. Kyo tried dodging again, but he was just too close for comfort.

**_            ***BLAM*** _**

**_            "_**Crap."

            **_***BLAM*** _**

"Crap."

**_            ***BLAM*** _**

A lucky shot caught Kyo right in the heart.

The spectators gasped as he froze in place, illuminated from within by a red-glowing aura. He shuddered, trying to fight off the malign effects of the cursed round. With an obvious effort, Kyo fought off the spell, visibly shakened.

"The hell was in that? A cursed _bullet_? You have _issues, _kid. _Never _mix magic and technology."

"Why, _thank _you. I knew you'd understand."

A pause.

"Alright. Now let's just kill each other."

For the first time in the fight, the combatants sped towards each other in full-out runs, eager to finally end this in close. They prepared Desperations: Kyo glowed red-hot, while Chan wound up his fist.

**"KORE GA…"**

"REQUIEM…"

**"KUSANAGI NO KEN DA!!!"**

"…PUNCH!!!"

            The following explosion showed up on an infrared imaging satellite orbiting China, and caused a huge fuss at the next UN meeting when the Communist ambassador accused Japan of developing some kind of low yield fusion weapon.

            When the smoke cleared, Kyo still stood. He'd turned in mid-air, flipping to land…On his feet? He skidded to a shaky stop, feet trailing lines of dust into the air.

            Chan was still on the ground, trying to summon the strength to continue. Behind him, empty patches began to show through Requiem's form, as the Stand struggled to hold itself together. 

            Clawing for his gun, Chan cursed, realizing it'd fallen from his hand somewhere during the brawl. He was completely unarmed, and now at a complete disadvantage. He'd nothing when this one-sided duel began, and sure as hell hand nothing left.

            Realizing that the end was near, Kyo advanced, charging up.

            "Good fight. Come back in a few years."

            As Kyo powered up the Great Serpent Slayer, Chan cast every protection spell he had, praying for a chance to survive the onslaught, and hopefully snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. 

            He was still chanting when the flame wave struck.

            An inferno of flames slammed into Chan's force shield, seeking to tear right through. The Stand-wielder set his feet, gritted his teeth, and _shoved _back. 

            Kyo didn't let up. If anything, the flames grew even stronger. The shield turned red, the blue, then white-hot with heat, as each defence was burned away, one by one. Chan's coat began to char: Hungry flames licked along the edges, igniting it in many places.

            But his resistance was getting to Kyo too. Sweat beaded the man's face, even as the shifting wave of fire began to ebb.

            It was becoming a simple matter of who could hold out the longest. 

            Kyo, the irresistible force, was getting closer and closer. Centimetre by torturous centimetre, the fire wave crept nearer. But, when confronted with the immovable object, even his strength was beginning to give out. 

            The man's hands began to smoke, blistering from the intense, all-consuming heat. 

            "Just…a…little…MORE…"

            The shield curved back on itself, slowly but surely. It held… held…held…

            -Broke.

            On fire and defeated, Chan hurtled backwards, like a shot from a cannon. He could see the crowd's shifting faces, smell the scorched scent of his own flesh. The ground rushed up towards him with the speed of destiny.

            There was no pain. He was too shocked to feel pain.

            Jiazheng was on his feet, mouth opened ridiculously wide, mouthing words that Chan was already too far away to hear.

            Chan kept falling.

            The noise of "Esaka Forever" redoubled, as Kyo turned away from his apparent victory.

            Chan kept falling.

            A bunch of doves flew through the air far, far above. They were white.

            His mind manage to articulate a single thought: _I failed._

            Then Chan hit, and all went black.  

(Man, that was a dark, depressing chapter. Sorry to take so long to update, but I've been busy studying for my exams, which come in somewhere during October. I'll still be writing, so check back regularly, 'kay? This isn't the end yet, not by a long shot it isn't.)


	10. Fight, Heroes! Fight!

**Chapter 10: Fight, Heroes, Fight!**

General Hospital:

            "Remind me again, exactly why does _this _always happen to our fearless leader? Cast spells, summon up spirits, fire that weird gun of his, and nothing happens. Start reading from a weird book of black magic, and he gets his ass kicked the next day. Moral of the story? Self-improvement doesn't pay off."

            "Speak for yourself, Ryan. You lost to that effeminate homo, didn't you? A _little improvement might do you some good."_

            "Hey! He lost too, alright? Besides, you were in the ring with him for _thirty **seconds****, Andro****. Then they had to carry you out on a stretcher."**_

            Fragments of noise swam in and out of Chan's ears, as elusive as light in a glass prism. His entire body felt numb and raw, as if he'd been in the sun for way too long. A wave of lethargy seemed to hold him down, and there was a strange itchiness on Chan's arms and legs, where IV tubes had probably been attached.

            "Both of you, stop arguing."

            Jiazheng's voice sounded thin and strained, in contrast to his firm words. What little confidence he'd left had been shattered by the day's events.

            "Shut up. _Great_ work as a Striker, Jiazheng."

            "That…That wasn't my fault. You have to believe me."

            "Sure. Your sword didn't even do any-"

            Chan sat up, wincing at the brilliant light that seemed to bore straight into his brain. Idly, he scratched at the IV drip plugged into his left arm, feeling a weak as a newborn kitten.

            "What-"

            His voice was hoarse and cracked, distorted by dehydration and heat. It sounded harsh even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, Chan tried again.

            "What..happened?"

            Ryan's form, silhouetted against the light, slowly turned towards him. His blurry face was stretched in a tight, forced grin, unlike the usual honest smile that Ryan sported. Several new bandages adorned his arms and legs, and a huge purple bruise obscured the left side of his face.

            "Well, it looks like we lost."

            Andro let out a _hmmph__, and turned away in disgust. He was obviously unhappy with the way things had gone. _

            "To put it simply, they bitchslapped up. Kyo literally kicked your ass without working up a sweat. And, as the last fighter…You can guess the rest."

            It was over. The chilling thought slid into Chan's mind, with the finality of a closing tomb. They would never see Ignis now, and their small war was over before it'd began. 

            "So…What happens now?"

            He already knew the answer to that question.

            Without turning around, Andro spoke.

            "We have a few choices, all of them bad. We could break up here, and each go our individual ways. We could sit out the rest of the tournament, and watch the others go for the finals. We could run home, like whipped dogs. Or…"

            Here he paused. An odd spark ignited in his eyes.

            "We could take up the offer. One final blow for revenge."

            Suddenly feeling very weary, Chan cast a glance around him, trying to think of some alternative. But there was none. Their adventure was over.

            All that mattered was how it ended.

            "Well then, I…"

            He paused.

            "You guys have already come to a decision, haven't you?"

            Jiazheng nodded, a motion oddly exaggerated by the sword strapped to his back.

            "Yep. We're just waiting for the go ahead."

            Chan rubbed at the headache that suddenly developed, ignoring the sudden stabs of agony that erupted on his burned skin.

            "All right, then. We'll play it till the end." 

             Andro nodded in satisfaction, a thin smile spreading across his face.

            "Looks like we're all agreed then."

**************

Two Days Later, Hotel…

            The inside of the small room was dark and damp, due to the partial power failure of the hotel's main generator. A single bare bulb dangled crazily overhead, casting harsh light down onto the table below. Five people clustered round that sturdy structure like moths to light, as much for warmth as anything else. 

            A huge map lay on the table, already annotated by many red dots and crosses. The main speaker, a young lady dressed in an extremely outlandish armored costume, was busy jabbing energetically at it with a metal pointer, explaining every fine detail to a group of four bored-looking boys.

            "We'll go over the plan one more time. The factory is located somewhere north of the main hub, smack middle of the slums. The place seems to be lightly guarded, though we can't be too sure. We'll sneak in, ice the guards, and destroy or steal everything we find. Hopefully, there'll be something explosive or flammable-This is a _weapons _factory, after all- That'll save us the trouble of going Wrath-Of-God on the place. Failing that-"

            A heavy thud on the table signaled Ryan's disapproval. 

            "You've told us this before, Karmen. I've already memorized the damn plan. But the question is…How the hell do we get in? I'm not up to dodging bullets yet, and neither is anyone else. Is there a reasonably sane way to get it?"

            For the first time since arriving, Karmen smiled.

            "Every day, a truck travels along the roads, and heads into the warehouse. It's heavily armored: We have no way of knocking it off the road. But…"

            "If the driver can be convinced to get _out _of his car…"

            "Exactly. Here's what we're going to do..."

**************

That Night…

            The truck rumbled along the slippery road, powerful headlights cutting a wide swathe through the fog. More than half-asleep, Ikawa fiddled with the antique radio, trying to find something sufficiently loud and disruptive.

            ***CLICK***

            "And we present to you-"

            ***CLICK***

            "o/ Hate is very, very, very BAD, we should all-"

            ***CLICK***

           "o/ Dreaming of Zion awake…Sleeping awake…Can't stop sleeping awake…"

            ***clickclickclickclickclickclickclickCLICK***

            With a sigh, Ikawa flipped the radio off. So many channels, nothing worth listening to. He gunned the engine, relishing the rush as the armoured truck sped onwards. Last time he passed through this area, a group of weirdoes had tried taking pot-shots at him with low-calibre firearms. Didn't do nothing against the armour, anyway.   

            Just a quick trip down to that spooky-looking warehouse, a quick, anonymous cargo dump, and he was in the green for another month. East money. The people there were probably doing seriously illegal, but who gave a damn? It was just business, and he was just a truck driver…

            ***THUD***

            There was a loud thud, as if a crate of fruit had been thrown against the bumper. Cursing, Ikawa screeched to a stop, jamming heavily on the brakes. The hell was that? If he actually _hit _anyone, his ass was probably on the line.

            Whatever it was, he would still have to clear the road. The thought of trailing organic material all the way home was enough to make Ikawa sick. Donning his winter coat, the burly driver opened the door, and stepped into the falling snow. A small-calibre pistol was shoved into his pocket, but he didn't think he was going to need it.

            A figure lay sprawled just in front of the truck, wrapped in dark coat. Probably one of the street scum that'd taken a wrong turn, or something. Ikawa approached at a cautious pace, wondering whether he'd hit that person too hard.

            There was a brief shudder of movement, so small that Ikawa wondered whether he'd imagined it. He leaned down to get a better look, raising a hand to lift the corpse off the road-

            -When Claire drove a four-inch long needle through his throat. 

            Unbelieving, Ikawa let out a wheeze, hands clutching at the blade in his throat. His eyes bulged, flickering up and down the ornate hilt. An expression somewhere between shock and outrage imprinted itself on his face, as he tried to make sense of what was going on. God, was he _dying_? This was a sick world they lived in, sick!

            Almost gently, Claire drew another needle from some undefined pocket, and plunged it into- and _through- his eye. She gave the man a delicate shove, as roughly half his blood supply came gushing out from his brain. The corpse toppled backwards onto the road, spilling the rest of its life out onto the rapidly-freezing floor._

            Claire shrugged off the formless black cloak, letting out an innocent, almost childlike giggle. She _liked watching people bleed. _

            "You can come out now, guys! It's over!"

            Very slowly, the rest of the DHS cohort emerged from either side of the main road. Andro seemed to materialize from the shadows, taking form from nothing at all. Ryan poked his head out from a snowdrift, shaking off the rest of the powdery snow from his uniform. Yiming and Jiazheng strode out from the nearest building, Karmen in tow.

            There was the sound of very loud swearing, and a branch on a nearby tree snapped. Chan plummeted down, and crashed into the snow, looking like a complete idiot. Red-faced, he struggled up, slipped, and went down again.

            The rest of the group stared.

            "WHAT?"

            Ryan hauled him up by the scruff of his black trenchcoat (Especially for this occasion.) and set him down on his feet. He gave Chan a slap on the back that sent him staggering.

            "(In a sickeningly cheerful voice) No problem, right? Everything still attached? Now let's GO, before you do anything even more STUPID."

            "…Yessir."

            Claire got up, giggled again, and set about casually retrieving her needles.

            Jiazheng grimaced, looking at the bloody mess. He looked pale, and felt more than slightly sick. It wasn't that he was squeamish: The unnecessary death disgusted him.

            "Did you _have to do that, Claire? We could've just…"_

            "Tied him up and left him somewhere? What's the point?"

            Jiazheng subsided into silence.

            Chan gave him an understanding nod, and gently shoved him in the direction of the truck. He understood all too well how Jiazheng felt, but it was far more important to keep him functioning now.

            "Let's just find a way to all fit onto the truck, okay? There might be something useful inside. Besides..."

            Chan grimaced.

            "I don't feel like sharing a seat with Yiming."

**************

            They crowded round the back of the truck, pondering its mysterious contents. An elaborate-looking electronic padlock secured the double-doors, holding them perfectly still.

            Alvin took a step forward, examining the plain metal keypad that was the lock's only ornament. The familiar steel vines stretched out from his arms, and then retracted, almost reluctantly.

            "Hmmm...Nonstandard. The combination could be anywhere between one to nine digits, or could require a certain sequence-"

            Andro promptly cut his technical speech short.

            "Can you open it?"

            "Maybe. Could take quite some time. Somewhere between one to two days, at the very least."

            "Well, assuming that we don't have two days, let me have a shot at it."

            Chan took a step forward, drawing the Mage Cannon from its holster. The weapon glowed a deep crimson, letting out a threatening hum that told of the buildup of massive energies. He gave the mechanism three brief fireballs, creating a short-lived flare of power.

            The keypad glowed white-hot   , sizzling like butter on a hot grill. It melted into an untidy-looking puddle, dripping down the sides of the doors. A brief tug cleared the entrance, causing both massive doors to swing open.

            The chill breeze of an internal freezer billowed out, raising a thin layer of frost on every available surface. Ryan shuddered, trying to rub the numbing cold from his bones.

            "Whew. Frosty."

            Compared to the general local temperature, it was positively _freezing _inside...And that said a lot. Suspicious-looking slabs of meat hung from hooks tethered to the top, with neatly-packed wooden crates right below.

            Ryan took a closer look at one of the many dangling sides of meat, giving them a sniff. Unhooking one, he took a cautious nibble, and swallowed once, aware that the eyes of all others were on him.

            "Well? What _is it?"_

            "Ham. High-quality black pepper ham. Not bad."

            Feeling slightly peckish, Ryan took another bite.

            "You mean they're hauling food?"

            "Probably. There's still the crates though. The meat could merely be a front."

            Yiming appropriated another ham from the conveniently-placed freezer, hefting a large crate like an oversized egg in one massive hand. For a brief moment, he considered how to open it. Then, evidently coming to some momentous decision, he dashed the thing to the ground, and stomped, shattering the tough wood like a walnut.

            Golden packers cascaded from the crate, a veritable flood of them. The rest of team stared, goggle-eyed. They had _not _been expecting this.

            Andro scooped up a single packet, lips twitching in a faint smile.

            "Double-decker crispy potato chips."

Karmen triple-blinked.

"Now in a vegetable-and-onion flavour."

Ryan sweatdropped.

"Made in China."

This was followed by the entire group facefaulting, at exactly the same time.

"THEY'RE HAULING **_JUNK FOOD?!! WTF?"_**

"Uh...Yeah. Seems like it. Unless this was merely part of some cunning plan, I'd say we just offed the guy in charge of the snacks."

Karmen audibly cleared her throat, bringing their attention back to the topic at hand.

"We're running out of time, folks. We have to get on board, NOW. Two of us drive, everyone else behind. In the freezer."

"One Dunmanian in front, and _then one of you freaks. We're still not taking any stupid chances around you guys."_

"Fair enough. By the way...Can anyone drive?"

Dead silence.

"No one can drive?"

"Should've thought of this part of the plan, genius."

Alvin raised a hand, anxious to head off the brewing argument.

"I've played Daytona before. How much more difficult can it be?"

"But...But...You've never actually driven!"

"I propose to learn."

**************

Two hours later, a familiar-looking van rumbled to a stop in front of a massive pairs of steel gates, leading to an abandoned warehouse. An entire army of well-armed, hard-eyed man gazed down from above, training a wide variety of advanced military weaponry on it.

Scanners played over the truck, issuing forth a complex set of electronic beeps and whistles. The truck replied in kind, with an even-longer pulse of sound. Its occupants waited in breathless silence, hoping, praying...

Very slowly, the gates slid open, pulling away soundlessly on well-oiled bearings. With Alvin at the wheel, the truck rolled on in. Chan, seated next to the older Stand-wielder, let out a long, thankful sigh of relief. He loosened his deathgrip on the Mage Cannon, slumping back in his seat.

To either side, the scenery flashed past, as Alvin guided the truck through a series of checkpoints, waved on by cheerful guards. His driving skills were up to snuff: Nothing to write home about, but they _did _get the job done.

"Thank God we're in. Now we just have to lose the truck, and..."

"Get that gun ready, Chan. Big trouble coming."

"What?"

A tough-looking punk, obviously one of the older guards, approached the truck. He held a wide-bore M-60 in his right hand, and began rapping sharply on the side-window, motioning for Chan to open it.

Chan looked at Alvin.

Alvin looked right back.

With no other choice, Chan scrolled his window down, keeping the gun held low. The guard poked his sweaty, ugly face in. His eyes widened in shock, as he realised the new drivers of the vehicle.

"Hey! You're not-"

Big, suet-smelling and unpleasant, the man's face filled Chan's field of vision. Without making the conscious decision to kill him, Chan raised his handgun, and punched it right into the man's mouth. Teeth and blood spattered with the force of impact, and whatever he'd been trying to say ended in a gurgle.

Chan pulled the trigger.

The explosion that followed shook the entire truck, rattling everything and anything not bolted down. The guard's head vanished, flash-boiled in an instant to a red vapour. The round still had enough force to corkscrew off into the night sky, creating a brief flare of light.

There was a brief moment of shock silence, that seemed to stretched on forever.

That was when everything began to happen at once.

Alerted by the flash, the other guards spun around, raising their weapons and drawing beads on the truck. The headless corpse slumped back out, and rolled off the side of the vehicle, twitching spasmodically. Not waiting to see what happened next, Alvin's foot came down hard on the pedal, pushing it all the way down to the metal floor. 

With a screech of burning rubber, the truck shuddered, wheels spinning crazily. It leapt forward with a sudden surge of speed, tilting dangerously to one side. In the bag, hams and crates rained down on Ryan from all directions, pummelling him everywhere. Shielding his face from this unexpected volley, Ryan scrabbled to the other side, trying to keep the truck balanced. 

Yiming bashed on the wall with one massive fist, denting the very metal of the truck. The big man couldn't take much more of this.

"SLOW DOWN, DAMNIT!! YOU'LL KILL US **_ALL!!!_"**

"Screw this," Alvin shot right back in reply. He muscled the wheel to the right, flinging every occupant in that direction. His terrified copilot let out a shriek of pure, unadulterated terror as the world spun crazily outside.

There was a series of incredibly loud noises from behind, as the guards opened fire on the speeding machine. A hail of bullets tore their way into metal, punching line after fine line of holes in the fuel tank. Several actually ploughed on into the back, eliciting another string of curses from Claire or Karmen.

"At least they didn't hit the-"

There was a nasty _popping _noise, as both back wheels exploded. The truck slewed to one side, over-compensating and suddenly unable to head in a straight line. Alvin managed to straighten his path out, never lifting up on the gas. His face distorted in a rictus of terror, he grappled frantically with the steering wheel, yanking it left and right.

All to no avail. They were heading right towards the large warehouse. 

Or more specifically, the massive steel-and-iron padlocked doors that made up the entrance of the weapons factory. 

"BRACE YOURSELVES! WE'RE GONNA HIT!!!"

"WE'RE GONNA **DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!**"

It didn't take a tactical genius to see that Chan was right. Amid a chorus of terrified screams, the truck bore down towards the factory gates, a massive battering ram headed for the classic medieval gate.

Another volley of gunfire raked the vehicle, sending it spinning totally out of control. The broad side of the truck collided with the doors, shattering everything and anything in the way.

There was the sound of smashing glass, and the tormented, warping screeched of stressed metal. The doors literally flew off their hinges as the armoured truck, minus two wheels and most of its cargo, ploughed into- and _through them. _

************

The inside of the NESTS weapon factory was actually a rather nice place. There was a general sense of order and calm about the area, as cheerful workers chatted with each other, staving off boredom as they worked.

The place was both air-conditioned in summertime and well-heated in winter, a pleasant contrast to the biting cold outside. The assembly-line machines were gleaming, sterile and well-oiled, literally radiating efficiency. Due to the intensive automation, all the workers had to do was to keep an eye on the proceedings, and prevent any obvious mistakes from occurring. 

On a conveyor belt next to the main workstations, weapons and armour were put together with incredible speed. First the framework, then the circuitry, then the enhancements, and finally to the neatly-stacked rows. The factory was operating at a hundred-and-fifty percent efficiency, way ahead of schedule.

The workers were happy with their lot: They were well-paid, well-fed, and received a large bonus just to keep their mouths shut. All-in-all, it could've been much worse.

It was too bad this easy life was almost at an end.

Like a speeding missile, that harbinger of destruction tore right through the front door like paper, sending metal shards spraying out onto the faces of the men below. The vehicle hit the metal safety railings, rammed through them like they weren't there-

-And plunged right off the edge, turning into a torpedo that fell down, down, down, into the assembled mass of workers below. There was a sudden, wet squishing noise, like a crate of tomatoes being run over by, well, a massive armoured truck. The truck's entire windscreen fogged up with blood and other organic fluids, sending a literal wave of it spraying out to splatter the others nearby.

There was a moment of false calm, as all concerned tried to accept the sudden and bloody deaths that their co-workers had suffered. 

Then, huge, massive and furious, Yiming plowed out from the back of the truck, eyes gleaming with menace. Andro quickly followed, pulling his visor down. There was a sharp _clicking _noise, and his blades appeared in his hands. 

Suddenly, a worker dropped, a thrown knife embedded in his craw. Another simply toppled like a puppet with its strings cut, as Claire's poison needle took him in his eye. But, the clincher came when a bolt of lightning streaked out from somewhere, and reduced a third to a mere skeleton, then ashes.

That was when the screaming began.

************

The truck came to rest on its side, wheels still spinning futilely in the air. It shuddered, twitching like a wounded animal lying down to die. 

Gasping, Ryan clambered out from the back, his entire face covered in bruises. Sheer good luck and his own extraordinary toughness from the worse of the fall, but not the mild concussion that resulted from roughly half a tonne of assorted meat and wooden crates. 

Ryan's gloves smouldered, as blue lightning danced around his fingers. He'd thrown the lightning bolt more out of reflex than anything, only intending to buy himself a few more seconds of life.

Chan and Alvin hung limply in the front seats, suspended only by safety-belts and restraining straps. They'd had the wind knocked from them by the initial impact: Only sheer luck had saved them from going completely through the windscreen. Shattered glass had sliced shallow wounds across their faces and bodies, setting up the slow _drip-drip-drip _of blood, as drop after drop struck the ground below.

The soft glow of his pentagrammic shield limed Chan, casting an unearthly light on his face. It flickered weakly, at the point of vanishing entirely. It'd blocked off the crash, but the flying glass had sliced nasty gashes in his face, just barely missing his eyes.

Alvin was a bleeding wreck. Razor-sharp needles of glass stippled his hands and his body like quills, covering every available surface. Only Macabre's dark power kept him going: Already, wounds stitched themselves shut, repelling glass and closing neatly to leave only scars.

In the back of the truck, there was a buzzsaw noise, and a brilliant green light. Jiazheng's sword emerged from the side of the truck, as he sliced his way from the truck. Metal flew like shredded paper, and Jiazheng tumbled out, covered in sweat and panting.

Completely serene, Karmen clambered out from the back, as if alighting from a carriage. She motioned for Claire to stand down, performing a fancy flip to the ground.

"Forget the workers. They aren't attacking us!"

Andro shrugged, almost out of hand. He spun around, eviscerating another fleeing wageslave. Blood spurted in all directions. Like a demon of war, Andro grinned, painted in crimson.

"So?"

He tossed another knife, a simple, unhanded toss that simultaneously sliced through fingers and limbs, digging an even deeper groove into the fleeing crowd. Right next to him, Yiming didn't so much as fight his way through as _tear_ a path through the panicked crowd, ripping arms and legs loose as though picking flowers.

Sickened, Ryan glanced away, letting the electricity coursing through him die. He was completely and utterly repelled by this senseless slaughter, but he knew that there was no reasoning with Andro when he was like this.

"What now? Let's just hurry up and get it _over with!"_

"Just wreck the machines! ALL the machines!"

Suiting deed to words, Karmen flung a huge thunderbolt, blasting a massive furnace to fragments. There was a _very satisfying screech, followed by an earthshaking detonation as the thing exploded._

The alarms promptly chose that moment to go off. 

Screeches, subsonic whines and a huge, thrumming roar went off at the same time. Evidently, the designers of the base had simply installed every alarm system possible, not giving a damn about the side-effects.

The sheer volume of noise was like sitting at the front row of a punk concert, complete with nasty, clashing echoes. The horrible noise was enough to even manage to raise Chan from his state of unconsciousness. He looked up blearily, blinking grit-filled eyes.

"What? How..."

The place began to resound with the sound of metal feet tromping on stone, as _all _of the security detail mobilized. Every man grabbed his weapon, and made a beeline for the factory, galvanized by the incredibly loud, and incredibly disruptive alarm.

Back in the very heart of the NESTS weapons factory, all eight of the intruders paused, and looked up. All knew what this meant: Ignis hadn't left this place completely defenceless. The alarm had been sounded.

Very soon, they would be overrun.

************

Truth to be told, the factory wasn't as well-designed as Ignis had probably thought. From far away, it looked imposing enough, and the design was obviously structurally sound. Thick walls, solid gates, multiple checkpoints with overlapping fields of fire.

The entire base had been built to keep people out, a task at which it succeeded admirably. However, when you looked closer, two major flaws soon presented themselves.

First, the place was simply too big. The massive perimeter fence was well-stocked with both men and machinery, placed at each and every portion of the wall. Unfortunately, if sufficient pressure was brought to bear at a single point, the defenders would be effectively alone. It would take some time before news of the attack could be relayed, and even more before extra help could be mobilized.

The other problem was even more glaring: There was no way to counterattack people already inside. Even at full speed (Like now), it would take at least fifteen minutes for the guards to reach the centre facilities.

This was more than enough time for the invaders to brace for the inevitable assault. Chan and Alvin were dragged from the truck: Everyone else took up positions where they could do maximum damage. The last few "innocents", now completely out of their minds with terror, ran like hell. Andro scythed his blades at the last few that passed him. He let the rest go, shoving aside those that got too close.

After all, there would be enough killing to be done very soon. Till then, there was no use in wasting energy.

************

All-too-soon, the cavalry finally arrived. White-armoured soldiers blocked off the main (and only) exit, looking buglike and inhuman in their silver armour. The NESTS flag glinted in the light, painted on helmets and prominently displayed on arms.

Rifle-bolts were racked; assault chainsaws were drawn. The troops had been ordered to close to hand-to-hand, to avoid needlessly damaging/destroying precious machinery. To that end, they all carried low-calibre SMGs, with weak rounds that would simply bounce off metal and steel.

Of course, it was more than capable of tearing flesh apart.

There was a tense calm, slowly stretching to breaking point. No targeted presented itself, with only the sound of scurrying feet telling of movement in the first place. 

The leader of the troop, a particularly large and well-armed warrior, took a step forward. His armour's servos whined as he stood, raising a loudhailer.

"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. THERE IS NO ESCAPE, NO WAY OUT. LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND SURRENDER."

There was no answer.

Somewhere far off in the dark, something moved. Bullets whistled out from somewhere behind a metal shelf, clanging off the leader's armour. A missile of steel and energy screamed past, tearing through the tight defensive formation at gale speed. A single soldier slumped over, impaled right through his powered armour by the high-velocity bolt.

The leader promptly retreated behind the questionable safety of the entrance, backing away to what he thought was a safe distance.

"Have it your way! First rank, _forward!_"

He waved a hand, and the first row trooped forward, guns clamped tightly in their hands. They opened fire as they walked, weapons lighting up like blowtorches at close range. Tracers and sparks lit up the darkened inside, casting deep, wavering shadows. Spent casings cascaded to the ground in a constant stream, bouncing off and littering the floor with metal debris.

A bubbling ball of blue fire exploded right in the midst of the NESTS troops, coating them all in a viscous, burning substance. They didn't slow on whit. In fact, the still came on, howling defiance through their helmet speakers. Pumped high on both stimulants and artificial adrenaline, NESTS troops were superior to their fleshly counterparts in every way.

From his hiding place behind his temporary shelter, Chan began to sweat, as they came closer and closer, gunfire sweeping nearer and nearer. All of the spells he'd cast had utterly no effect. He'd expected to at least _slow _them a bit, but it'd been all for naught.

Holstering his autopistol, he hefted the comforting weight of the Mage Cannon. This was sure to blast a hole through their-

***THHHOOOOMMMM***

The hell was that?

Risking death by ricocheting rounds, Chan looked up.

Yiming stepped from the shadows, already clad in the fearsome Armour Of Stone. With a speed that belied his incredible strength, he lashed out with two massive hands.  Closing fists the size of dinner plates around the nearest two helmeted heads, he _squeezed._

Armour crunched beneath that merciless grip, and head literally exploded. Suddenly, stone gained a new dye of red. The two unfortunates crumbled out, and were promptly discarded, as Yiming reached out again.

Another machine-gunner folded up and immolated in a burst of green flame, as Jiazheng's sword went right through him. The swordsman followed up with a massive concussive sword attack, blasting all nearby off their feet.

Chan smiled. 

Perhaps the odds weren't so uneven after all. Even as he watched, Ryan and Andro hurtled down from above, trailing lightning and shadow, respectively. Bunched together as they were, the troops couldn't use their guns. By the time they'd drawn their weapons, they'd already been dispatched.

Then the counterattack came. More and more soldiers piled in, firing as they ran. Chan flung up Requiem's shield just in time, shielding the others from the worse of the barrage. 

Perhaps things were actually worse than he had thought. Or maybe, it had been hopeless from the start, and Chan was merely insane.

**************

Somewhere Else...

            A figure sat in a dark room, lit only by the glow of a myriad of monitors. The screens shimmered with image after image of violence: Blood, bullets, corpses...Only the sound of the frantic battle was muted out, giving the flickering figures an odd surreality of motion, as they ran back and forth, captured from every angle by the relentless glare of security cameras.

            A gauntleted hand idly tapped the controls, as the seated figure manipulated the view. It was tall, broad, and moved with a strange stiffness, its body partially draped by what looked at first like a cape of feathers.

            They weren't feathers. They were blades. Tongues of polished, sharpened metal, interlaced into an armoured design. Beneath it, a melding of burnished chrome and flesh, duralloy and steel, a biomechanical body of marvellous design. This was the work of the now-deceased previous Zero, his last gift to his genetic father.

            The figure flipped on the microphone.

            "Take them...Alive, if possible. I would wish to examine them personally."

            Somewhere else, forces were pulled from stationary outposts, as men rushed to obey the orders from higher up. They all knew the consequences of failure, or even disobedience. The figure cut the connection, zooming his viewpoint in onto the battleground, with an avid interest.

            "Especially that one…"

            Silhouetted on every screen, Andro fought on, slashing, hacking, destroying. Veterans were unmade in the vortex that surrounded him: Armor was shredded and the occupant eviscerated under the sheer volume of the blows. He'd worked himself into a frenzy, and his never-slowing assault showed that.

            "That one, in particular, intrigues me."

            Ignis knew nothing. The leader of NESTS was distracted, his attention focused elsewhere. That just gave one of his finest creations the chance to rebel. A lackey of NESTS? No more. Very soon, the world would learn to fear the name of their new master, once _that impudent loser was toppled from his throne._

            The figure chuckled to himself. 

            Everything was going according to plan. 

               __


	11. Run, Heroes! Run!

**Chapter 11: Run, Heroes! Run!**

NESTS Warehouse Weapons Factory...

            The firefight was already in full swing, and showed absolutely no sign of slowing down. Elemental fire, lightning, knives, and a wide variety of nasty magical spells lit up the night, like a massive fireworks display in a bottle. The self-proclaimed good guys' were hard-pressed, fighting at the very limit of their physical and mental might, giving far better than they got. Their counterparts, ubiquitous goons in white powered armour, variously got blown to pieces, decapitated, smashed flat by a rampaging stone titan, or simply were beaten to a pulp.

            The NESTS troops didn't falter. They replied in kind, with a serving of hot metal, and things that went boom. Already, many littered the floor, and still they kept coming. Now, even conventional guards joined the fray, toting various hand-held and heavy weaponry. 

            Scenes of carnage abounded. Here, Alvin's razor-edged vines burrowed through steel and into opened helmets, searching for the flesh beneath; There, Claire stabbed impossibly sharp needles in throats and open joints. Chan summoned forth a massive shaft of distortion, shaking matter apart, while the Mage Cannon in his right hand spat flame and death into the snowy night.

            Ryan hurled electricity and serpents of water, slicing flesh from bone and frying nerves to ashes. His fists lashed out in all directions, cracking even seemingly-impenetratable riot shields. Andro seemed a figure in a fountain, as blood gushed around him. His blades rose and fell, rose and fell like some harvester gone berserk, and he didn't so much as fight as he did hack a way through his opponents.

            Totally invulnerable, Yiming crushed two terrified guardsman together, even as they emptied their guns in his direction, bouncing off solid stone. He grabbed another, and (***CENSORED***), before leaping up and powerbombing the remains into the nearest group.

            Karmen and Jiazheng fought a ferocious point-blank war, taking on all newcomers in an attempt to stop reinforcements from arriving. Karmen had apparently grabbed a rifle, and was firing it at full-auto into the crowd; Screams and spraying blood told of her success. Jiazheng was a whirlwind, slashing and slicing away, his blade everywhere at once. Armour was totally useless against it, giving way like tissue paper.

            The collateral damage was incredible: Everything breakable had been broken twice, and bodies, both whole and maimed, littered the floor. Bleeding from many wounds, his brain jangled by a trio of concussion grenades, Chan ducked behind the burned-out remains of a truck, one of the last freestanding structures in the area. His face was lacerated from shrapnel, and his glasses were totally askew: A man toting a grenade launcher had gotten the drop on him. If not for a force-shielding and a well-timed invocation of reversal, Chan'd already be dead. But as it was...The look on the bastard's face as his own rocket went flying right back at him was almost hilarious.

            Ryan dove in too, taking a brief break from the fighting. The big, furious killers on his tail turned, and continued advancing on his new location, chainsaws cleaving great clefts in the air. Chan fired a maximum-force incendiary round in their direction, lighting them up like some pyromaniac's fantasy of Judgement Day.

            Ryan looked like hell. His outfit was completely scorched, with even his gloves burnt away by the sheer magnitudes of the forces he'd been channelling. Twin streamers of red dribbled from his leg and side, where he'd been scraped by a chainblade. The rusty, gaping wounds were slowly closing, but currently bled freely and hurt like hell.

            "This...This is NOT what I expected," Chan managed, clutching his aching ribs. 

            "I know. Me too." Ryan tore off his shredded sleeve, punctured by bullets. He held the dirty cloth to his side, trying to stop the flow of blood. He wasn't meeting with much success.

            "How many more of them are there? Got anything left?"

            "Not much juice left." Ryan snapped his fingers, and with effort, summoned up a great blue spark.

            ***WHAMWHAMWHAM***

            Squashed rounds smashed into the metal all around them, sounding up a dreadful commotion. 

            "DAMN! THAT PISSES ME OFF! **_THE LAWLESS OCEAN!!!"_****__**

****Thousands of small water droplets appeared in the air in front of Ryan. Grabbing them, he flung it at the opportunistic sniper. The massive detonation that followed tore the man's perch apart, and sent him hurtling to his doom. 

            "Alright, I still have some left. You?"

            "One spell, maybe two. Requiem's not listening again."

            Chan emptied off an entire autopistol clip in the direction of the blocked-up entrance, catching another goon in white armour right in the head and chest. With a bubbling cry of rage, he went over, red trickling from every joint in his suit. He dug into his pouch, and came up with six more clips for the autopistol, three more for the Cannon. Not nearly enough to take on a small army.

            "Whatever it is, Chan, we have to go. NOW."

            "But how 'bout the objective? The others aren't going to back down."

            "Then the others will have to be carried out in body bags. Just take a look around. Do you actually think that we can win? Besides, the objective was to trash the place. I'll consider that pretty much of a success."

            Ryan was right. The place was in ruins, with more holes than Swiss cheese. Machinery had been riddled with thousands of rounds, their metal casings having given way from the sheer volume. The safety railings lay on the floor, where they'd been used as makeshift weapons, then discarded. Priceless equipment had been wrecked, and any freestanding structure was destroyed: Nothing short of a miracle would make this place functional again.

            "Okay, then. You're right, as always. We'll gather the others, then break out. After that...Well, it's every man for himself. Lose your playmates, and return to the hotel when they're gone. Got it?"

            "Great plan. But in case you hadn't noticed, we're still pinned down."

            "I'm on it. THE WORLD!!!"

            Chan seemed to flicker out of existence, and the world went black-and-white to his eyes. Perfectly safe in his stopped time, he stood up, and promptly wrecked havoc amongst the stationary ranks of the frozen guardsmen. To their comrades, it was as if they'd suddenly died where they stood, torn apart by a hail of bullets that had hit at _exactly the same time._ They took the hint, and pulled back, creating a sudden lull in the shooting.

            No one noticed the two figures that wisely took this opportunity to slink off. 

**************

            Andro fought like the master he was, slashing his way past his foes in a whirlwind of blades. He'd discarded his old knives in favour of the new, whirling contraption that tore through both metal and flesh like a hot knife through butter. Though it's weight threw his timing off, he was still fast. Too damn fast.

            Already, he'd left a trail of maimed and dismembered corpses in his wake, a grim testimony to his effectiveness. Most hadn't actually been dead when the first blow connected: It was the vicious coupe de grace that Andro administered moments later that did that.

            Plated in combat armour and firing heavyweight ammunition, three more killers swarmed him, guns roaring. Andro dove to one side, snatching up a fallen body as a shield. Bullets tore into dead flesh, leaving the assassin completely untouched. With a kamikaze scream, Andro leapt high, ascending to a ridiculous height. All three men raised their guns and continued firing, somehow unable to hit the assassin who dodged between the blasts with impossible speed-

            ***SLASSSSHHHSHHHHINGGGGGKK*****

            -Then all three went down, like puppets with strings cut. It was uncanny. No matter how much firepower was aimed his way-

            -Another guardsman, half mad with pain and adrenaline, ran at Andro with a long knife, screaming his fury. Blood fountained into the air, as the man suddenly and finally lost the ability to hold anything again. An orb of black annhilation whistled past his head, incinerating soldiers he hadn't even seen. 

            His reinforcements had just arrived.

            Ryan and Chan tore into the group with magic and lightning, blasting away huge chunks of the opposition in spectacular displays of pyrotechnics. Over the screams, shouts and the non-stop noise of gunfire, Andro's opponents suddenly became far less enthusiastic. 

            Andro flung a Shadow Edge in the general direction of the next squad, glad for the breather. Still firing away, Ryan and Chan backed in, emptying their guns in the direction of the survivors. 

            Chan drew a clip of hollow-point rounds, reloading the autopistol again. He fired off another burst from the Mage Cannon, eradicating more and more faceless goons in soundless explosions of black light. The runes on the Mage Cannon glowed bright red, taxed by judicious overuse. Still Chan kept up a constant stream of fire, slamming rounds in as fast as he fired.

            "Where're the cops? Can't they even HEAR this amount of noise?"

            Ryan's expression never wavered. He'd retrieved an SMG from the ground, using it to great effect. Emptying off the last few shots, he tossed it aside, drawing a borrowed Desert Eagle from the waistband of his pants.

            "You know the cops around here, man. They just turn up _after the shooting, and take all the credit."_

            He punctuated his comment with a single shot. Suddenly gaining a spouting hole in his faceplate, another overconfident soldier dropped to the hard floor, and messily expired.

            "Nice one, Ryan. Head shot."

            Andro let out a dry cough, wiping his blade with a square of fabric. He tilted his visor up, dashing away blood and sweat from his face. Damn, but he was getting thirsty.

            "I assumed you wanted to tell me something? It seems that we have totally no hope of victory."

            "Yep. We're sounding the retreat."

            There was another detonation, too close. Like a crimson rain, liquefied body parts spluttered all around them. The group instinctively ducked back deeper into their makeshift barricade, which had once been the factory's main furnace. 

            "That was...Yiming's Supreme Punishment SDM, I think. He must be getting desperate."

            "This is quickly turning into a snuff film. What's the plan?"

            "We'll pick up Jiazheng- Where the hell is he, anyway? –Then we'll blow our way out. After that, we'll split up, lose our playmates, and meet back home. Got it?"

            Andro nodded. Just outside, Claire leapt and jumpkicked an assault chainsaw from its wielder's hand in slow motion, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly with a shower of cyanide-tipped spikes. She hurled the weapon like a harpoon, impaling another unfortunate who hadn't had the sense to run. He died still screaming, frantically trying to drag the whirling cutter from his chest. Already bleeding profusely from six or seven minor hits, Claire performed an awkward armless cartwheel. Grabbing his weapon, she fired away at the next squad.

            "I'll go get Jiazheng," Ryan offered. He vanished in a spray of water, leaving Chan and Andro alone. Now they just had to sit tight, and pray heavy weapons weren't coming into the equation.

**************

            The former Cartel Team was in deep shit. They were now bunched together like the survivors of a massacre, forced back inch by inch by the relentless assault levelled against them. Yiming still fought on, uncaring of the odds. A fragmentation grenade had cracked his rocky shell, with every other bullet chipping off more and more. 

            Things were getting desperate, all right. Alvin, a cloud of darkness swirling around his body, had roughly a half-dozen soldiers tangled up in a web of steel vines. Roughly three times that number was firing at him, even as the sentient cables punched into flesh, searching for cracks and holes in steel.

            Karmen had long discarded her stolen rifle, the barrel smoking and heated from overuse. Thunderbolts blew apart attackers where they stood, followed closely by Searing Winds and salvo after salvo of silvery kinetic blasts. Trickles of blood dripped from the corner where she'd ensconced herself, a counterpoint to the stacco booms and chattering of automatic weaponry in the distance.

            Jiazheng fought supremely, sweeping his sword around him in long-armed, spinning slashes. Lacking Andro's grace, he was far less effective, but the emerald flames that emanated from the wooden blade was more than enough. His opponents died bleeding or burning­-it didn't particularly matter.

            He cut loose with another shockwave, scorching gunman away to nothing. Nailing another faceless minion with a Dominion Strike, he turned round, just in time to watch one of the last soldiers rise, aim his handgun-

            -Then fall back, his head a ruined mess, as a burst of automatic fire shredded his face. Ryan dropped the SMG he'd snatched up, a victorious smile on his face. He gave Jiazheng a friendly nod, totally out of place in the chaotic battlefield.

            "Nice job, Jiazheng! Still alive, man?"

            Numb from adrenaline, fatigue, acutely conscious of his many wounds, Jiazheng had barely enough strength to nod dumbly. The bloodstained wooden blade in his hand had never ever felt heavier.

            "Good, because we're leaving. All hell's gonna break loose, but we aren't gonna be here for it."

            "But how...How about..."

            "Go."

            Both boys turned and stared at Yiming, his massive form scarred by many new wounds. A still-whirring chainsaw was embedded in his arm, slicing it to the bone. He pulled the gory blade out, and hoisted it in one hand.

            Between thumb and forefinger.

            "Go," Yiming repeated, swaying unsteadily. His wounds had already ceased to close, filling up with an unpleasant-looking black gel instead. 

            They didn't need to be told twice. Jiazheng hurled one more Ultra Whirlwind Slash at the last cluster of soldiers, and promptly ran after Ryan, not even bothering to wipe his blade. For a mere moment, he hesitated, casting an anxious glance back the embattled Cartel Team, still taking(And returning) from all directions.

            "Don't worry," Ryan reassured. "They'll be fine."

            Only then did Jiazheng see the walking corpses. Slowly, each and every limp form on the field rose, beginning a slow, shambling tread towards their former comrades. Streamers of blue light stuck to their limbs, animating them like puppets. Bullets tore into the walking dead, but failed to stop, or even slow them. Chainsaws eviscerated corpses, but organs were no longer needed to fight. 

Without pity, without mercy, the dead of NESTS turned upon the leaving, gouging and lashing out with sloppy, powerful blows. Dead flesh gummed up every joint, every weapon. It got in mouths and faceplates, suffocating and choking occupants. Then, the fallen merely joined the ranks, arising to participate in the necrotic legion.

"Who's doing that?"  
            "Claire. Necromancy's her speciality, remember?"

Pushing the unpleasant thought from his mind, Jiazheng focused on a more important issue: How they were supposed to get out. 

"How the hell do we get out?"

As if in answer, the APC he'd seen rumbled over, coming to stop right in front of the two. 

"Need a ride?"

"Oh. No. You didn't. Chan, Andro, tell me you didn't."

Andro, sitting at the wheel, broke into a smile. Or least, as close to a smile as Jiazheng had ever seen from him.

"We did."

**************

Unknown to the DHS Team, the police DID know about the disturbance. Their behaviour fit Ryan's cynical description exactly: They intended to roll in right _after _the battle, taking all the credit for cracking down on an illegal facility of a frustratingly tough underworld organization.

To that end, police cars encircled the entire base, aiming a wide variety of pistols and standard-issue shotguns at the exits. They actually didn't have a hope in hell of hurting, let alone _hitting anyone at this range, but it was best to put up a show. Besides, with what seemed like anti-aircraft fire lighting up the sky, not to mention the echoing screams and explosions of a small war, it simply didn't seem like a good idea to move in. _

Not just yet, anyway.

Unfortunately for them, despite their decision not to interfere, the battle was coming their way. The detonations and crashes were getting louder and nearer, as the DHS Team made its attempt to break out.

The boys in blue were getting nervous. Many shouldn't have been given jobs frying tubers for the police force, let alone have been trusted with guns. But still, they had a job to do, and could not, in all seriousness, back down. The chief, a particularly fat, balding individual, wiped cold sweat from his scalp. He swallowed nervously, hunkering back behind the car.

"All right, they'll be coming out any moment now, boys. Get rea-"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence. Impossibly enough, right in the middle of winter, lightning jagged down from the sky. A single massive bolt clutched the car with a crackling fist, touching off the fuel tank in a spectacular, short-lived explosion. Shrapnel bounded out in all directions, cutting down many more officers where they stood. 

Then the gates of hell opened.

An incredible, improbable volley of firepower swept through the main entrance. Over the high whine of plasma, the rattle of bullets, explosions, whistling of minimissiles, *thwumping* of grenades, and the hideous screaming of the uniformed officers, you could faintly hear Chan's maniacal voice. He'd already gone fruit loops, with the help of his trusty semi-automatic disaster attack.

In a scene reminiscent of Armadeggon, cars exploded, men disintegrated, and the National Debt soared. A final bright explosion lit the night sky as a small mushroom cloud billowed up from the area, as the wave of destruction swept from left to right. Metal, flesh, plastic...It didn't matter. _Everything _vanished, erased in a moment by the flashlight of annihilation swinging through the ranks.

More and more bolts of lightning flashed down, choosing their targets with pinpoint accuracy. Flash-burned to skeletons, bystanders fell, bodily fluids superheated to nothing in an instant. 

Then the wind picked up. All survivors, and the assorted wreckage of vehicles and miscellaneous buildings, were bodily picked up and _flung by the gale, clearing a path right through the centre. Wild-eyed, wind-blown and shell-shocked, a cop crawled from his blackened vehicle, trembling. He took in the scene of utter devastation, managing to set foot on the cracked street. Somehow, his hat remained on his head, completely unharmed.    _

"At least...At least it's over," He managed, clutching his unloaded pistol like a talisman.

Hell no it wasn't. 

An army of black-suited figures (Who all looked exactly the same), poured out from the gates, running in perfect unison. They moved with an eerie lockstep, as if all were controlled by the same mind. There was the sudden silvery flash of steel, as fifty pairs of razor-sharp blades flickered out into fifty pairs of hand.

Fifty pairs of eyes gained maniacal gleams.

And the smack was definitely laid down.

**************

Blasting out the gate in the stolen APC, the DHS Team didn't slow in the slightest, pushing the rumbling vehicle for all it was worth. Holes already pocked the vehicle, a reminder of the large-bore military weapons used on it. The back was on fire from an incendiary grenade, and the fuel tank was holed- A potentially EXPLOSIVE situation.  

"Who WERE those guys, anyway?"

"Don't know. I've never seen them before."

"Maybe we should've asked before we started casting!"

"Ryan, those guys are wearing _blue uniforms. Don't they look like the pol-"_

"I know, I **_know!!! SHUT UP!!!!"_**

Behind them, the rest of the troopers gave chase, on a mismatched group of bikes, vans, cars, armoured trucks and...On foot? And after that, in a haze of screeching wheels and yelled orders, well, it was just a chase scene.

**************

An Indeterminate Period Of Time Later....

            Andro drove like a madman. He took corners at impossible speeds, smashed through flimsy wooden fences, and plunged through ramshackle slums like they weren't there. Fruit carts, walls, cute little SD dolls...All fell apart before the massive steel behemoth ploughing right through. The few people awake and in the way at this time had the sense to get out of the way: Most yelled insults and hurled abuse from the ruins of their house.

            The assassin did all this with a rapidly increasing sense of desperation, all-too-aware of the rapidly falling fuel needle. He could literally _feel each precious drop dribbling from the holes in the tank, and put pedal to metal while he could. Already, a quarter of the tank was gone, and they were still at least four miles from safety._

            It was going to be a long walk home. Assuming they survived the inevitable crash, of course.

            The rest of the group clung to their seats, cursing Andro with each breath. Each violent turn threw them against each side of the car in turn, causing no small amount of ouch. Guided purely by instinct, Andro somehow managed to avoid ramming into anything too solid, taking each turn as it came.

            Not far behind them, bikes and featureless vans followed, packed to the rim with heavily-armed men. They fired as they drove, punching more holes in the APC's sorely-abused framework. Jiazheng, Chan and Ryan fired back, a barrage of bullets and magic, eager to return the favour.

            ***BOOM***

            Hit dead-on by an incendiary round, one of the white vans went up in flames. Charred bodies tumbled out in all directions, as the vehicle careened out of control. The bikes on both sides swerved to avoid it, missed the next passage-

            -And CRUCNCHED into a graffiti-spotted wall, adding new decorations to the stained bricks.

            Thankfully, just like in any good action movie, the bad guys were _dumb. Really dumb._

            Ryan riddled another rider with holes, sending him dramatically skidding to his death in a massive shower of sparks. Cracking off shots with Chan's borrowed autopistol, Jiazheng sent a clip through the windscreen of another van, this one a double-sized monstrosity fired chain-linked turrets: Firing them very inaccurately, thank the Lord.

            Very dramatic, very stylish, very, very heroic. Pursuer after pursuer went straight to hell, as eerily accurate gunshots blew out wheels, holed faceplates, punctured glass, and shredded armour. Too bad the boys never noticed that the NEXT fence emptied into a drained swimming pool. Too bad they never noticed the news chopper overhead, recording everything and anything.

            Andro turned the vehicle towards the aforementioned fence, stomping down on the gas. He intended to crash through, swerve onto the open road, and leave the others eating his dust, while gunfire from the rest of the team blew them away. He did NOT expect to do a kamikaze dive into an empty concrete swimming pool. The APC tore through the fence, left the ground briefly-

            -And plunged head-first into the gaping abyss that'd suddenly opened up. There was a CRASH that shook the neighbourhood, and bricks shattered under the weight. With a sound like a sledgehammer striking rock, the entire vehicle rammed into the opposite wall, miraculously avoiding flipping over. 

            Another moment of silence. The only noise was the sound of the engines far behind, overlaid by the faint sound of the chopper's blades. 

            "Ow."

            "Are we dead?"

            "I hope so. I think I have a headache."

            "You appear functional, Ryan."

            Pause.

            "...I'm going to kill you, Andro. Who taught you to drive?"

            "No-one. This was my first time."

            Another pause.

            "On. Now I'm REALLY gonna kill you. Just let me get my hands free-"

            "EVERYONE SHADDUP!!! IT'S NOT OVER YET, IDIOTS!!!"

            Slowly, painfully, the group extricated themselves from their second car crash that night, brushing off glass and steel fragments. No one was seriously injured, but they'd all stocked up of bruises, sprains and pulled muscles by way of compensation.

            "This is getting to be a habit," Jiazheng groused, his precious sword caught on a piece of wreckage. After a bit of cursing, he finally managed to tug it loose. Tossing aside his ruined trenchcoat, Chan limped to one side, seething with anger. He'd just bought that coat last week. Those bastards were going to pay...Hopefully with their teeth.

            "Okay. Here, we split up. It's gonna be a few kilometres, but..."

            He winced, as his weight came down on his bad leg. Healing would take time- Time he didn't have.

            "I'm sure you can make it. Remember, no heroics. Don't take on the group if you can't. And for God's sake-"

            Chan's face darkened.

            "Don't let them take you alive. Well, that's it. Godspeed."

            There were no more words to be said. They scattered, heading down the maze of alleys and streets, vanishing like they'd never been. Andro was the last to leave, casting a reflective glance at the stars above. Either he would make it or he wouldn't.

            At this point, it didn't particularly matter.

            "This will be...interesting."

**************

Even Later...

            The bright red sign had stood at the end of the street for years, marked by wind, rain, and the other ravages of time. Appropriately enough for this region in the mean streets of Japan, it was marked 'NO BRAWLING', a frankly pathetic plea for law and order.

            Today would not be a good day for that sign.

            Ryan was bodily flung into the street, hurled in like a shot from a cannon, right through one of the small alleyways. He crashed to the hard floor, sent sprawling from the impact of a tremendous blow. The Physical Adept kicked into a backward roll, barely dodging the massive chattering blade that swung through the air. 

            Frantically, Ryan scrambled to his feet, flinging himself aside as the chainsword swung again, slicing a bench in two. The backswing nearly caught him, but the bench took the force of the blow, in a splintering shower of sparks and stone chippings.

            His pursuers strode in, clasping their assault weaponry in massive metallic hands. No guns- They obvious intended to deliver executions with their melee weapons. Ryan wasn't even bothering to fight them: One hit would mean the end. He kept up the frantic game of dodging, ducking and rolling past the ill-timed, but sickeningly powerful swings.

            He had to get away. If he could get to the other end of the street, he would be-

            Two men closed in from the other side of the street, blocking Ryan's escape. They were clad in the dull grey uniform of NESTS, and clutched tasers and stun batons. 

            Ryan promptly ran towards them, gaining a temporary reprieve from the massive metallic killers headed his way. Side-stepping the first jab, he caught and broke the man's wrist, smashing him to the floor with a full-out spin kick. Snatching the stun baton from the air, Ryan executed a desperate parry, blocking the _next _slice aimed his way.

            Another of the white-armoured troop ran his way, breaking into a full-out run. Ryan spun, smashing the taser into his face, sideways. The soldier went out instantly.

            Something snapped. No way he was going to die here. NO FUCKING WAY.

            Lightning jagged from Ryan's hands, lighting every opponent with a lurid glow. They twitched crazily as a massive current tore into them, leaping through their wonderfully conductive suits. Blue arcs leapt between the entire group, turning them all in living lightning rods. Servos blew out: Mechanized parts overloaded, in eye-searing flashes and sparks.

            Finally, smoking and charred, the entire group went down, toppling to the ground. At exactly the right moment, more poured in from both sides, stranding Ryan right in the centre between two rows of grinning faces. Evil smiles pasted to their faces, ten more soldiers drew stun batons, fanning out to surround Ryan. On the other side, a final three-by-three phalanx of the chainsaw wielders.

            Very slowly, Ryan began to back away, knowing that there was nowhere left to go. His mind was a frantic whirl of emotion and panic, literally driving his eyeballs back into his very skull.

            "God, I'm going to die here. And after all that crap." 

            The circle began to tighten. Slowly, the wolves closed in on the helpless lamb.

            Then Ryan's hands closed around the solid metal haft of the sign.           

            Ryan smiled. Then, he _heaved_. 

            Weak mortar gave way under that massive effort, as Ryan hauled away with all his unnatural strength. His opponents traded glances, barely believing it. With a last, desperate effort, Ryan pulled one more time, finally managing to tear the massive pole from the ground.

            The circle stopped moving. Uncertain glances were traded, and dubious looks cast Ryan's way. They couldn't seem to decide whether to close in, or back off.

            Ryan made that choice for them.

            "SCREW YOU, BASTARDS!!! EAT THIS!!!"

            Arm muscles screaming agony, he swung the massive sign like a gigantic axe, cackling maniacally. Revving his chainsaw, an enterprising soldier shortened the pole by a good quarter, shredded the pathetic-looking sign at the end. 

            But that merely left Ryan with one-and-a half metres of cast iron pole.

            Moving faster now, no longer burdened by the unwieldy metal head, Ryan spun the staff around, swinging the concrete-sheathed end instead.

            ***WHAMMMCRUNNCHHH***

            That warrior went down, the concrete sledgehammer exploding in his face. A cloud of dust billowed up, thankfully shielding the bloody sight of his ruined features. Whirling his deadly weapon around one arm, Ryan faced the others confidently, a twinkle in his eye.

            "That actually worked? I don't BELIEVE it! Who's next?"

            What followed next was madness.

            (WARNING: BLATANT RELOADED RIPOFF...BEGIN)    

            If his fight with Zero had been a kung fu sonata, this was rapidly shaping up to be a symphony. Wielding his staff as a mad combination of kendo sword, vaulting pole, and battering ram, Ryan was invincible. He hit one hard enough to send him into the next zip code, cracking his friend's skull on the return swing. Moving faster and faster, Ryan didn't stop, transfigured into a whirlwind of destruction.

            ***WHAMTHUDDD***

            There went another unfortunate who'd strayed too close. Ryan hit him with a home run swing, sending him up. That man kept going.

            Another made a desperate flying tackle, only to be clubbed down in mid-leap. Gripping the staff in both hands, Ryan swung low, shattering kneecaps to an audio accompaniment of screams. Bashing back blows and bashing in teeth, Ryan carved his way through the melee, frantically trying to keep up the pace.

            The soldiers attacked in waves, mounted assaults, scattered, and came back for more. In the thick of it, Ryan was dancing, chucking bodies skyward, pivoting around the undefined centre of the mob. Using shoulders as stepping stones now, fording raging rivers of whup-ass, Ryan held his own, clearing a large area around him.

            Yet, the supply of troops was _endless._ Idly beating the hell out the next person he banged into, Ryan frantically tried to fend off the determined assault of the next Generic Badguy, wondering how the hell Ignis had found so MANY. How'd paid for all that equipment, anyway? 

            To tell the truth, Ryan was fighting around thirty, maybe forty men, most who'd already been around the dance floor once or twice. Unfortunately, his own exhaustion was beginning to work against him, slowing down his defences, and making him sloppy. To make matters worse, Ryan simply couldn't finish off anyone he downed. The moment he took a soldier down, his buddy was right next to him, a certain vengeful gleam in his eye...        

            "Ah, hell."

            Ryan stepped back momentarily, switching his staff to a two-handed, overhead grip. He began to spin it with all his might, as the wind began to pick up. He didn't particularly like this move, considering it crass and uncontrolled, but Ryan currently had no other way out.

            "DESTINY-"

            An inkling of what was about to happen occurred to the NESTS troops. They formed into one more wave, launching a final, desperate charge. 

            Too late.

            "CYCLONE!!!"

            A freak tornado erupted. 

**************

            Chan limped along as fast as he could, throwing the occasional glance back. He'd been lucky so far, managing to find a place to hide till most of the commotion was over. There'd been a short, vicious battle with a group of over-wary guards, which had been ended with a hail of spells and bullets. Chan was in bad shape, but just look at the other guys. 

            He was down to his second-to-last Mage Cannon clip, and one more magazine of explosive rounds. Magic wasn't looking too good either. Chan had burned most of it on the way out, leaving him with exactly two spells. Hopefully, they were good ones. All that really was left was his shield and his Stand, neither of which Chan really felt like using.

            That gave him a passive defence, and no offence worth mentioning. The only thing left to do was to run, and pray no one saw him. 

            God must not have been listening that day.

            "HRAGGGHHHHHHHHH!!"

            (Insert Soundtrack: .hack//SIGN, Aura)

            ***WHAM***

            Chan went skidding across the floor, as someone smashed him from the shadows with a tremendous blow. He fought his way to one knee, feeling red-hot jags of pain lance their way up his bad leg. Gritting his teeth, Chan raised the Mage Cannon in an unsteady hand, more out of defiance than anything else.

_            If you are near, to the dark, I will tell you 'bout the sun..._

And there his opponents were. A score of lightly-armed men and women, clad mainly in loose, flowing robes. All carried fancy-looking staves, sparking at the end with eldritch light. They regarded him with an expression somewhere between contempt and hatred, the insignia of NESTS prominently displayed on their clothes.

            Chan blinked. Mages? Here? Ignis had Awakened?

_            You are here, no escape, from my visions of the world,_

            A pimply-faced teenager around his age stepped forward, levelling his blazing staff at Chan's face.

            "You're that boy, aren't you? Chan, isn't it?"

            Clutching his wounded shoulder, Chan got up. He stared right back, his face a blank, emotionless mask.

            _You will cry, all alone,_

"Who wants to know?"

            _But it does not mean a thing to me..._

            "Nothing personal, but we're here to kill you."

            Chan forced himself straighter, with an effort. The ever-present pentagrammic circle drew itself around him. The next words, delivered in tones of supreme self-confidence and arrogance, shook even his attackers.

            _Knowing the song, I will sing, till the darkness comes to sleep,_

"Are you sure?"

            "What?"

            "I'm in a bad mood right now. I won't hold back against idiots like you."

            Spreading his hands, Chan took a casting stance, mumbling under his breath.

            _Come to me, I will tell, 'bout the secret of the sun._

_            "**REQUIEM!!!"******_

            Big and brutal, the Stand appeared. The NESTS mages quailed visibly. They'd never been prepared for this. All their magic, all their protections, couldn't have prepared them for this. Suddenly far less confident, they seemed to consider backing away, aware that this prey could sting back. 

            _It's in you, not in me, but it does not mean a thing to me..._

            "Kill them."

            Then all was chaos and bloodshed.

            Requiem barged forward, howling a ferocious, bone-chilling battlecry. Claws swept out, and eviscerated the nearest mage. Armoured fists pummelled the foolhardy, blasting past their pathetic defences. The massive chainguns grafted on the thing's shoulders opened up, spewing up a steady stream of hot lead. Bone spurs sliced through throats, and two sets of gaping maws snapped up meat and entrails, biting off limbs and crunching heads like apples.

            The Stand literally at its way through the opposition, killing and consuming in a feeding frenzy. With each kill, it seemed to become more..._Solid, _somehow, till it actually left bloodstained footprints.

            _The Sun is in your eyes..._

            Several tried to fight. Spells spiralled through the air, impacting with the force of sledgehammers. Lightning of every colour sizzled through the air, followed by magic missiles of ravening force. Invocations were yelled; Staves, blazing with power, spat fire in all directions. Circles of protection flared to life, in a desperate attempt to protect the casters.

            Requiem ignored it all. Spells shattered on the Stand like petals, as it tore into them. Commands, deathbolts, powerballs, sigils...Nothing worked. None had any effect whatsoever.

            _The Sun is in your ears..._

            In the carnage, no one thought the young man, who stood there and watched them all die. An insane grin of satisfaction spread across Chan's face, a lot like the deathlike rictus of a corpse. Someone groaned, trying to drag her maimed form away from the rampaging monster. Chan sent half a magazine speeding her way, eliciting a scream and a wet gurgle. In the space of a few minutes, the grisly battle was almost over, with only the stains on the walls and the gouged corpses on the floor telling that anyone had ever been here.

            _I hope you see the Sun, someday in the darkness..._

            Requiem, arms mutated to the razor-edged whips, was busy toying with the leader. The man, mortally wounded, was trying to crawl towards the sparking staff that lay just out of reach, body twitching under the flaying blows. Chan could see red meat and bone, more of which went flying with every strike.

            _But you can't see the sun,_

            "That's enough. Return."

            There was no response. Requiem didn't even look up.

            "I said, that's enough. Return."

            _Ever in the darkness.___

Chan felt a gnawing dread, as Requiem continued. The corpse had already given up the ghost, spilling its life out in a crimson pool. Still Requiem didn't stop, now sending a fountain of red mist into the air.

            "ENOUGH! OBEY!!!"

            The Stand looked up. Chan instantly wished it hadn't. Painted in the blood of its kills, jaws dropping dripping bits of meat, Requiem was a terrifying sight. Slowly, deliberately, it growled. Red tracers of light jagged from its eyes, sweeping the area. Something told Chan he was way out of his league.

            "...Obey..."

            It came out as a muffled croak. Dimly, Chan felt a snapping sensation...

            ...And he realised...

            He was no longer in control. 

            As it to confirm it, Requiem threw its head back, and laughed.

            ***NO LONGER DO YOU COMMAND ME***

            The words were a massive cudgel of psychic force, laced with burning threads of hatred. Chan staggered, and almost fell. He slipped back, too terrified to stand still, too horrified to run. He'd just unleashed evil upon the world. Requiem tensed, as if to spring. Chan began chanting the words for the spell of Genocide, knowing he wouldn't get it off in time.

            Instead, Requiem faded away, like a leaf on the cold wind. The echoes of its mocking laughter remained, reminding Chan it wasn't over. The student slumped, glad to be alive. He forced his trembling hands to relax, releasing the Mage Cannon. 

            Then the full import of what he'd done hit him.

**************

**_            "DESPERADO BOMB!!!"_**

            ***KA-BOOM***

            Bodies went flying, as Jiazheng's sword slammed into the ground. Strictly speaking, this move wasn't exactly original, copied from Chan's move of the same name. Jiazheng's cousin Samuel Chao would've probably flipped over in his sleep, horrified by the cheap ripoff of his far superior Broken Wing SDM. But enough with copyright infringement, alright? It was still pretty damn effective.

            In the aftermath of the explosion, Jiazheng snatched his sword back. Not even bothering to sheathe it, he turned and ran, intent on avoiding the attention he'd obviously attracted. Since the chase had began, the swordsman had nothing but bad luck. As far he knew, three-quarters of the group had decided to go after him and Andro, splitting up in smaller and smaller detachments. The last he'd seen of Andro, the man had been fighting for his life, swamped by a hostile crowd.

            "There he is! Get him!"

            ***BLAM BLAM BLAM***

            They were _shooting _at him! Bastards!

            Jiazheng tucked-and-rolled into a heap of garbage bags, bullets whistling all around. He slashed out a shockwave, sending a blast of verdant force spewing back down the street. There was a sudden break in the shooting, giving Jiazheng a sudden chance to dive for the dubious cover of the Dumpster.

            Shouldering their way past crumbling bricks, the elites opened fire, guns hurling forth volley after volley of hot metal death. The Dumpster flipped over, spewing its contents on the ground. They stopped.

            "We got him!"

            Except that Jiazheng was right behind them. Uncannily sharp wood removed heads with pinpoint precision, severing fingers with ease. The last tried to draw a handgun, but found himself armless as Jiazheng slashed twice, slicing through metal plate like soft cheese. Blood spurted into the cold night air, ending only when the blade stabbed through the soldier's chest and impaled his heart.

            From the only other way out, a riot-squad-esque trooper stepped in, levelling his machine gun.

            You can't use a sword as a threat. You shouldn't hold it unless you intend to kill someone, or really feel like slicing off your own limbs. Raising his weapon high for the pear-splitting stroke, Jiazheng held his blade perpendicular to the ground, gripping it with both hands again. The varnished wood, dripping with blood and spinal flood, seemed to glow with a light off its own. It attracted the elites and repelled everyone else, giving Jiazheng a relatively clear path ahead, and a congested block of white army ants on his tail.

            The man right in front of him gauged his chances, then did the proper thing. Namely, he tried to get the way out of the way. Jiazheng glided past him, the all-encompassing arc of his swing slicing through the man's neck. Time slowed, the air turning to jelly.

            On full autofire, an entire wall of bullets came flying Jiazheng's way. He flung frantic parry after frantic parry, sending the grey blurs of bullets spinning away from him, repelled by miraculous luck and skill. Jiazheng turned the last parry into a massive downward slash, striking the ground just in front of himself. 

            "**CONCUSSION!!!"******

            Constrained by the walls on both sides, this blast was thrice as powerful as the first. Rotten bricks crumbled, mortar dust going up all around. Eyes squeezed shut, Jiazheng burst through, gambling on instinct to keep him alive. Hidden by the smoke screen, he was temporarily invisible. 

            "ULTRA WHIRLWIND SLASH!"

            The entire smoke cloud blew right back into their faces, eliciting curses and coughs. With a smile, Jiazheng picked a path at random, and kept running. No way they would catch him now. Even better...Wait till the other guys heard this!

**************

            Andro was in constant motion, climbing, running, leaping. He'd climbed to the rooftops, taking advantage of a convenient ladder to ascend. Far below, the last few squads swarmed round the base of the building, buzzing impotently like an entire hive of wingless bees. Their guns spat random tracers straight up, trying and failing to bring down the fleeing assassin.

            Alistair was feeling pretty proud of himself. After a bit of fancy footwork, he'd left most of his attackers in the dust, right before he found a way up the building. Even better, he'd hauled the ladder up after him. No way they were getting to him from there, at least. All he had to worry about was the chopper overhead...

            -Wait a minute. A helicopter? Here?

            A mechanical locust of death, the assault chopper hovered just above the rooftops. Laden down with a wide variety of weaponry, it remained out of Andro's range, waiting for a target lock. The pilot grinned viciously, slowly by surely getting a trace on Andro's movement. He tapped his communicator.

            "He's headed towards the city. All units, head him off. Proceeding with drop in."

            A group of killers, clad in the uniform of the SWAT, rappelled down from above. They blazed away as they went, filling the air with the angry hum of bullets. Andro almost missed the next jump, misjudging the distance. Frantically, his fingers scrabbled for a purchase on smooth rock. By the skin of his teeth, hanging on by his fingernails, Andro hauled himself up, biting back a scream of agony.

            ***KA-BLAM***  

            Whether by accident or by malicious design, a bullet caught Andro in the hand. Bones shattered, crumpling the appendage like a wet paper bag. There was an incredible amount of blood and pain, once more slicking the bricks with red fluid.

            Andro lost his grip. Stubbornly, slowly slipping back down, Andro clutched the edge with his good hand, face twisted in a rictus of agony. He would NOT give in! Not after all this! No way they would triumph over-

            -The second bullet, deliberately aimed, blew his right hand apart.

            Andro fell. 

            A long, furious howl of sheer hatred shook the world, literally stretching beyond the bounds of space and time.

            Something heard. Something saw.

            Alistair crashed through a hail of assorted debris on the way down, tearing through weak tin roofs, hanging laundry, a wide variety of garbage, before finally crunching into the unyielding ground. He lay there, wretchedly twisted, bones shattered. His heart flailed weakly in his chest, and his breathing began to slow.

            He was dying.

            The retrieval team was already on the way. The ranks of warriors parted, letting them through, The assassin would be a valuable resource if captured alive, something which had just been achieved. Now all they had to do was to make sure he stayed that way. An ambulance rolled up, disgorging field medics and doctors. All were well-paid, well-trained, and knew a hopeless cause when they saw one. Most shook their heads quietly, realising that the task ahead of them would be impossible. They were smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves, however, and simply shrugged, moving forward to administer aid.

            Then, a miracle. Bones untwisted themselves, melting and flowing back together. The flow of spilling blood reversed, pouring backwards into opened veins. Cuts sealed themselves, and bruises faded away. The failing heartbeat steadied, and redoubled, against all odds. 

Andro breathed. He stood.

"He's ALIVE! THAT'S **_IMPOSSIBLE_!!!"     **__****

"Get the extermination squad! NOW!!"

"He must be containe-"

The assassin's hands flickered: Suddenly, between every two fingers, there was a shuriken. The delicate-looking, bejewelled throwing stars looked out of place, and too flashy for Andro. However, they were among his most precious belongings. It was a mark of how serious his situation was, for him to use them now. 

He began to throw them, one handful after another, moving so fast his hands were a blur. The weapons glowed white-hot the moment they left Andro's hands, leaving trails of white fire in their wake. They sliced through anything in the way, moving impossibly fast. It was as if all his targets were standing still, moving in slow motion compared to the razor-sharp messengers of death headed their way.

The medics were the first to fall, mouth opened in soundless screams. They clutched neat entrance and exit wounds, already oozing a fetid, thick green smoke. Most of the blades punched through more than one victim, rebounding to slay others, a testimony to the incredible force with which they'd been thrown.

The soldiers were already in motion, drawing weapons from holsters and scabbards. Unlike their counterparts, they were packing strictly nonlethal weapons only: Gel rounds, concussion and tear gas grenades, sonic cannons and tasers. Their orders were to _capture Andro, not kill him. _

Too bad Andro didn't give jack shit for them. He snatched more throwing stars, this time mixing in some standard blades, and let fly again. The spinning, ricocheting blades sliced through those directly ahead many, many times, bringing them down to the packed earth. The second volley that followed was even more devastating, pinpoint slivers of incredibly sharp metal that bisected everything it touched.

Yet more closed in. Andro was fighting a full battalion of elites, who were totally unimpressed by the massive losses amongst their companions. Quite frankly, he didn't have a hope in hell of winning. But still, he fought on, because there was nothing left to do.

Leaping up with another physics-defying vertical jump, he rained down blades from above, into the horde below. Andro turned his descent into a slashing dive, his own weapons snapping out. Far below, realising the suicidal, all-out assault for what it was, rank after rank of troopers raised guns, aimed-

-And met Andro in midair with a hail of gunfire.

None of it was lethal, of course. He was too valuable to kill. But the sheer volume of bullets swarming up to claw him from the sky was like diving head-first into brick wall. Andro braced for the collision, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Hopefully, none would blind him, something which he wasn't holding much hope out for.

Nothing it. It was uncanny. Everything either simply bounced off, shattered, or went wide. Countless rounds exploded all around Andro, as if hitting an invisible wall. The deafening pulse of a Sonic Pulse screamed upwards, then resounded back, cutting a cone of devastation through those directly below. Concussion grenades bounded off, and fell right back, often onto the heads of the unfortunate throwers. 

            Then Andro was in their midst.

            Fists lashed out, pounding down those on either side. Andro slashed out, reaping heads with a steely swathe of light. He parried a wild, skittering slash from a stun baton, countering with a straight-out stab that impaled the attacker. Sweeping round, he carved an 'X' across someone right behind, kicking him back into the crowd. Dropping low, Andro launched a foot sweep, punting more foes away. A full acrobatic somersault followed, spraying knives in all directions. Clawing at stab wounds, soldiers died in the confusion, firing wildly.

            Garbled commands were yelled over the radios and headsets, screwing things up even further. Andro had the benefit of being surrounded by foes, meaning that no matter who he hit, he hit a foe. Some idiot fired the sonic cannon, blowing apart a sizable chunk of real estate. Caught on the edge of the blast, Andro staggered, and almost went down. He recovered, though, and tossed a knife through the erstwhile gunman's throat. 

            Snatching up the fallen cannon, he pulled the trigger, aiming at the next charging phalanx. He didn't even care about the red, flashing lights and the warning hum: Andro just wanted to _hurt _someone. At maximum force, the group blew apart, disintegrated by the intensity of the blast. The cannon exploded in Andro's hands, hurling him to the ground. A weird noise resounded in his ears, a humming that stubbornly refused to go away.

            Bodies began to pile onto Andro, grasping and tearing. He slashed and swung, aiming for exposed joints in the armour and vulnerable faces, eliciting more than one scream. Huge chunks of flesh and bone tumbled free, splattering meatily all around. The sheer mass began to pull him down, blocking up his swings and strikes. Several more fired into the scuffle, more often than not hitting their friends. Kicking and punching, Andro dug his way to the top, crushing the necks of those below with stomps.

             Then someone dropped a net.

            Andro went berserk. He hammered out in all directions, kicking and scratching, a trapped animal in a net. Frantically trying to hack his way out. He sliced at the steel strands, drawing off showers of sparks. Blows rained down on the assassin, as the soldiers took their revenge for their slaughtered comrades. All the while, the net tightened, cutting down on all motion.

            Andro never gave up. Foaming at the mouth, he struggled to get free, with a frantic strength borne of desperation and...fear? Kicks and blows continued to pour down on him, but most of his attackers drew back missing limbs, or nursing nasty gases. But this was only a second wind, and just as easily spent.

            At last, his strength gave out. Exhausted, bruised and battered, Andro hung limp, completely unable to move. A needle stabbed into his arm, right before all went black. Smiling, the commander drew back, and retrieved a handphone from a pouch in his combat webbing.

            "We have secured the target. Fought like a tiger, but we have him."

            "Excellent. Bring him to me."

            Not all of the DHS Team would see the dawn of the next morning.

            "And the factory situation? What of it?"

            "Two hundred men dead. Sixty-five more are mortally wounded, and will die soon. Thirteen will be ready for active duty soon enough. As for the intruders..."

            He hesitated.

            "They got away, sir. All of them."

            An ominous silence.

            "Two _hundred_?"

            "Yessir."

            Then again, neither would most of the Cartel Team. 

            "It doesn't matter. Once again, deliver them all to me. Ignore Ignis...Bring them to me _personally."_

(Whew. The longest chapter so far! Sorry for taking so long, but I'm in the midst of preparing for one of the more important exams of my life, 'kay? Don't worry, I'll continue as soon as possible, but there'll be a longer gap. And, sorry for the lack of an author's word for the previous chapter. Simply couldn't think of anything to write. But now, it seems like I can. So, thanks for waiting, and please R&R!)


	12. The End?

**The End?!**

The door to the hotel room slowly creaked open, spilling light from the hallway into the place. Tensing up, Jiazheng's hands inched to his sword. Acutely aware his wounds and bruises, he still didn't intend to simply lie down and die. After all the trouble he'd gone through to get back, Jiazheng had gained a kind of steely determination to go home alive.

Ryan staggered in. He clutched a sawn-off signpost with a white-knuckled grip, barely managing to fit through the doorway. The haft of the pole was matted with blood, grey matter and spinal fluid: Ryan himself looked like he'd been in a war. Most of clothes were wind-blown and covered in several layers of white dust. Holes and rips featured prominently in his suit, now more rag than clothing. His injuries seemed to be mainly minor scrapes and bruises, but there were many, many nasty-looking gashes.

"**_RYAN?!_****What happened? You look like…Like…"**

"Big trouble," Ryan managed, sinking down into a nearby chair. His hand fell open, releasing the pole. With a loud clang, the signpost-turned-weapon struck the floor, bounced once, and rolled away. Both winced at the unaccustomed noise. "Group of losers cornered me. Borrowed the signpost, here…"

He nodded towards the staff.

"…And dispensed a most righteous smackdown on them. Then, used the Destiny Cyclone. Most of them are probably in Indonesia by now..."

Ryan's eyes twinkled, as if at the recollection of a fond memory. That turned into a pained grimace, as he felt the bleeding contusion on his face.

"Good, I'm thirsty. Got a drink?"

Silently, Jiazheng retrieved a bottle from the side, and pushed both it and a shot glass across the table. Pouring himself a glass, Ryan gulped the clear liquid down thankfully. Face twisting with disgust, he shoved the rest away.

"Water?"

"Try staying sober for a change. You're a year under legal age, remember?"

"First Chan, now you. I'm sure it's unhealthy. By the way…Have you seen anyone else? Last I saw, we were all running in different directions, with hell on our heels."

Jiazheng shook his head. That was worrying him too.

"No. No one at all. I got separated from Andro, and ran down the alley. After I blew up the oil bond stall-"

"That was YOU!?"

Both shuddered, remembering the burning, scalding rain. It hadn't been pleasant.

"-I came right back here, after breaking a window. You're the first one back so far. You?"

Ryan frowned, staring at the pole as if it was all it's fault.

"No. That's weird…They should be back by alr-"

***SLAM***

This time, it was Chan's turn to burst in. The door literally flew off its hinges again, under his violent shove. The mage tottered in, waved weakly at the others, then tripped and fell. Cursing, he climbed to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

"Well," Chan said simply, a dangerous edge of hysteria in his voice, "I'm back."

Silence. Ryan and Jiazheng stared.

Chan was in a similar state of dishevelment, looking like a tattered scarecrow. The smell of stale gunpowder clung to him like a shroud, with his broken glasses dangling crazily from the sides. Both lenses were broken, the glass barely hanging in the frames.

"Our fearless leader returns!"

Chan waved the Mage Cannon in Ryan's general direction. The safety was already off. 

"Shut…Up."

"Ookay. Need help getting to the seat?"

"I would appreciate that, thank you very much. But then again…No thanks."

With an obvious effort of will, Chan shoved off from the wall, and somehow managed to fall into a chair. To his credit, he made it look deliberate.

"Did you see Andro, Chan?"

"No. Then again, I was kinda busy fighting running gun battles…"

He noticed everyone staring at him with a disbelieving air.

"Cut that out. It's true, and I have the bullet holes to prove it. Give me a break, guys. I don't think I saw him at least. Hard to tell in all that noise…Not to mention that weird hail of oil…"

Jiazheng shifted uncomfortably, eager to change the subject.      

"You know, I think Andro can take care of himself. Didn't you say he stayed here for one year? There shouldn't be a problem."

"Maybe so, but even then, something about this bothers me…"

***********

Hours Later…

            Dawn. Very slowly, the sun crept over the horizon, as if afraid of what the new day might bring. Three-quarters of the DHS Team was fast asleep, variously sprawled over the carpet, the chairs, or in one case, the table. Andro still hadn't turned up. Empty chip bags and sandwich wrappers told of the late-night feast in order to stave off sleep, and the many pots of coffee and empty bottles of alcohol told of an impending hangover.

            Shifting in his sleep, Jiazheng yawned, and rolled over. He promptly crashed face-first to the floor, grunted, and went right back to sleep. Perfectly happy to stay where he lay, he didn't make the slightest attempt to get up.

            Chan managed to muster the strength to stand, unfolding himself from his awkward sleeping position. His shoulder and leg still hurt terribly: Apparently, his regenerative abilities had left with Requiem. The long night in the chair hadn't done much to improve his mood either, leaving him with a serious resentment with the world.

            Hobbling over to the coffee table, he toed Jiazheng aside, and upended the can. Not bothering with water, Chan borrowed a nearby spoon, and began shoveling the brown powder into his mouth. 

            Somewhere behind him, the bathroom door slammed shut. Loud, retching noises emitted from somewhere inside, as Ryan emptied his stomach of everything he'd ever eaten. The voice eventually died away to a foreboding silence, as Ryan either passed out, or simply puked his guts out. Either way, he sank back into merciful unconsciousness.

            Chan envied him.

            It was a depressed, pathetic group that greeted the morning. The adrenaline rush of the previous night had worn off, leaving only a dull, throbbing void. Somehow, the fact that this was their last week in Japan wasn't helping. The boys were supposed to start packing, but no one truly had the heart to bring it up. 

            Most of the day was spent in a pitifully ineffectual, as the group shuffled back and forth like one of Claire's zombies. Three hours into the afternoon, survival instincts reasserted themselves, splitting the group up once again. After pouring anything remotely edible into his mouth, Chan locked himself in his own room, mumbling something about "Finding a curse to send those effeminate Japanese pretty-boys back to the gay hell from whence they came, blahblahblah"

            That was the signal for a marked deterioration in the general level of mental activity. Ryan ensconced himself in front of the television, and began flipping through the channels. Jiazheng blundered off into the kitchen, intending on finding something to eat Chan hadn't already gotten to.

            Once again, no one wanted to mention that they were soon going home. 

***********

            In his mind, Chan traveled. Seated cross-legged on the bare wooden floor, his consciousness delved inwards, running through the pathways of his psyche. Around him, the circle of thirteen circles flickered, pulsing in time to the glow of his own pentagram. This was an essential technique, the first step on the path to unlocking inner strength.  

            Though it sounded suspiciously like a load of bullshit, it allowed the user a greater level of concentration, providing a retreat from the non-stop clamor of the real world. 

Directly or indirectly, anyone with even a modicum of energy could do this. Kyo Kusanagi was said to visualize the fires within, a direct manifestation of his own abilities. Jiazheng's trance brought him into a bamboo grove, filled with verdant force and ever-falling leaves. Ryan saw a calm, placid pool, with ominous, lightning-hurling storm clouds drifting down from above. According to Kula, she saw the tranquil snows of Japan, eternally drifting down from above.

As for Andro and Ogion…Who knew what they ever saw within?

For himself, Chan thought of his school, and his home. And, all at once, he was there. 

A massive library opened up in front of him, packed neatly with shelf after shelf of books. Every book was a memory, spell or an experience, another fragment of his personality. Most were slightly dusty: Chan didn't come here often. As far as he knew, the bookshelves went on forever. Almost involuntarily, he took a step in a direction of the nearest shelf, intent of taking a look.

With an exertion of will, Chan stopped himself. He was here on a mission, not for fun. Besides, your own mind could be more dangerous than anything in the real world. Jabbing a single finger upwards, Chan's viewpoint spiraled upwards, skimming past the books at the speed of thought. He tore ahead, following a familiar pathway. Past this door, toward that corner, behind that solid metal grate…There! The main hall.

The main hall was an elegant, impossible structure, seemingly hanging completely unsupported in midair. Shoes touched down on the smooth surface, at an angle that defied the laws of physics. Chan willed himself forward, perfectly at ease here. You just had to see things from a different perspective, then everything _else made sense._

The place was strewn with treasure, spilling out all over the floor. This fitted the theme of the place perfectly, representing a treasure trove of magic and thoughts. Yet, all the gold, all the gems was merely a front for the main occupant: The Stand, World-Eater Requiem. Normally, the monster drifted in the exact centre of the sacred space, chained to the floor by deceptively-delicate chains of symbols…Or not. 

Gold crunched underfoot, as Chan strode forward. Deep in thought, he gazed at the shattered chains, which had once secured Requiem. The Stand was gone, no doubt about that. Darkness now swirled around the hole which had once held it.

But there was something else…

Once again, Chan willed himself, forcing a descent into the dark hole. There _had to be something else! To put it honestly, without a Stand, he was pretty much screwed…_

Suddenly, the trance shattered. All around, the vision fragmented, decaying and imploding in a flash of blue light. One by one, the candles went out in an unseen wind. 

Blink. Blink.

"What?"

Something had stopped him. Something there had prevented him from entering.

Something was going to pay.

***********

Slacking. After all those years, it was still what Ryan did best. Plonked down in front of the television, legs propped up on a convenient footstool, he seemed perfectly at ease. He hadn't moved for an hour, with one hand clamped down on the remote. 

"Crap, crap, crap, static…Three hundred channels…And not a thing to watch? Hah. So much for 'Luxury Suite'."

With a groan, he stood up, brushing off stale breadcrumbs. Outside, the snow had slowed to a trickle, sending the classic, anime-perfect gentle flakes descending like a blessing from above. It was an inspiring sight, a sign that hope still lived even in the darkest in the hour…

Ryan sneezed. Feeling perfectly miserable, he decided to head out somewhere.  And get drunk. Again.

            Snagging his jacket on the way out, Ryan prepared to sneak out. He didn't have any particular location in mind: One of the thousand hole-in-the wall bars would be good enough for him. 

Poking his head into the kitchen, he promptly called for Jiazheng, who had his upper torso buried in the cupboard, consuming a half-eaten box of cookies.

"Yo, Jiazheng!"

There was a loud crash. Swearing, Jiazheng withdrew from the cupboard, rubbing his head. He was in a foul mood, aided by the large bump on his head.

"Yeah?"

            "Get your coat, man." 

            "You need a break, and I need to do something useful. Two birds, one stone,

your coat, we go out."

            "I've got--" Jiazheng protested.

            "If you do not go out into the city with me tonight, I will beat you about

the head and shoulders with my lamppost here," Ryan hefted it in both hands like a golf club, "until you black out, and I will drag you into the city with me."

            "So I'm not being given a choice?"

            "If I was giving you a choice, I would have made it a question. This is a

demand I am prepared to back with force."

            Jiazheng quietly got his coat.

"Good man. C'mon. I know just the place."

***********

            Half an hour later, Chan opened his room door and peered out, wondering why it was suddenly so quiet. Realizing that no one _else _was around, he promptly donned his trenchcoat, shoved the Mage Cannon into a holster, and wandered our. Just like Ryan, Chan intended to find somewhere to unwind: In his case, something hopefully involving lots of caffeine and mindless digital violence. 

***********

Several Hours Later…

            ".and so I said to Faye, 'Hey! You don't do that to anyone under *our* roof!'" Jiazheng finished his second pitcher with a flourish. "'I don't care how much he liked it!'" He broke up laughing at this, thinking it uproariously funny.

            Ryan sighed, and poured himself another drink. 

"You said that before, Jiazheng. It sounded funnier the first time."

"I did? Hmmm."

Jiazheng reached out for the third pitcher, momentarily confused which one of the three ghostly images was real. After shaking his head to clear the little black spots, he finally managed to grab it. 

"Don't you think you've had enough, Jiazheng?"

"Coming from you, Ryan, that's almost funny."

Jiazheng was drunk enough to be rude, but not yet drunk enough to be unconscious. Ryan wished that he would get to that state soon enough. Staying around him was becoming unpleasant.

Glumly, Ryan stared into the depths of his mug. Once again, the knowledge that it was over kinda killed off any festive spirit. Damn Chan for getting his ass kicked. Hell, damn Andro for disappearing and probably getting himself killed. And, while he was on the subject, damn them al-

"Drinking at your age, Ryan? It's not healthy."

Not even bothering to turn around, Ryan shot off a vulgar gesture in the speaker's direction, before taking another gulp. Halfway to his mouth, the mug froze. He _knew that voice…_

            "SAMUEL? **_SAMUEL CHAO?!_"**

            "In the flesh."

            Both Jiazheng and Ryan hurriedly straightened up, and set their drinks down. A tall, stern-faced young man, clad in a pseudo-military uniform, pulled up a chair next to their table. Casting a careful glance around, he sat down, ignoring the astonished stares of the other two.

            "So…How're things, guys?"

            Silence.

            Jiazheng was frozen in place, staring at his twenty-five year old distant cousin…Who also happened to be one of the most powerful Awakened in Singapore.

            "Samuel? How…how…"

            "Want a drink, Samuel?"

            "Anything will do."

            "Jiazheng, stop staring like a zombie and pour the man one."

            Casting a glance at the still-frozen Jiazheng, Ryan promptly gave him a sharp kick under the table. Unfreezing, Jiazheng emptied roughly half the contents of the pitcher into Samuel's mug. Considering how much he was shaking, it was a wonder he didn't spill anything.

            "So…What brings you here?"

            "Oh, nothing in particular. I'm on a holiday. And, in a way, you guys are the reason why I'm here."

            "Us?"

            Downing his drink, Samuel wiped foam from his mouth. Removing a betting slip from the depths of his coat, he dropped it on the table. Ryan scooped it up, eyes widening at the amount displayed.      

            "A hundred thousand dollars? Bet on the DHS Team at Tokyo Stadium? Where'd you get so much dough?"

            "You're here to gamble, Samuel? I expected better from you, you know."

            "Hey, don't blame me. I got this cash from small bets on your previous fights. Believe me, this upset really hit where it hurt…The pocket. Of course, the next one will probably make up for it…"

            "Wait. Samuel, we LOST that fight. We're out of the tournament."        

            "Hmmm…That _could _be a problem. You sure of that?"

            "Are you implying something?"

"Don't worry. It doesn't matter. All I wanted to say is, don't give up yet."

            Samuel poured himself another drink, once again ignoring the suddenly suspicious stares from the other two. Ryan, in particular, felt a cold chill run down his spine as he wondered how much Samuel actually knew.

            "Just to ask, where's Andro and Chan? I saw them on the team, right? Don't they usually hang out with you guys?"

            Jiazheng took the chance to speak up, ignoring Ryan's frantic motions for silence.

            "Naahh. Andro went missing yesterday, just after that chase. Chan's probably off somewhere with that white-haired girl of his…"

            He shut up, as Ryan kicked him again. Samuel looked up, eyes narrowing to slits.

            "Girl? By any chance, is her name Kula?"

            "Yeah. Don't worry, we know what she is. Chan can take care of himself. He has that Stand, you know, Requiem. I'm more worried about Andro…"

            Samuel's face darkened, taking on a pensive expression. Frowning, he stood up, pushing the chair away. He had the look of a man who'd just come to a disturbing conclusion. 

            "Nice having a chat after so long. We'll have to meet up again someday, Ryan. Take good care, cousin."

            Ryan opened a packet of peanuts, and began munching.

            "Beats me. Now, feel like another drink?"

***********

            Kula walked down the twisting streets, guided by the beeping of the small motion tracker she held. Bugs had been planted on almost every member of the DHS team, giving her their exact locations, at any time, at any place. 

            Or at least, that had been the general idea.

            Considering the amount of noise and radio traffic, the signals only got through half the time, rendering the damn thing almost worthless. She simply couldn't rely on it enough. Of course, it was pretty useful when Kula merely wanted to have a chat, as opposed to any tactical purpose.

            Glancing down at the miniature screen, Kula took another look. Andro's black dot had fizzled out long ago, for reasons still unknown. And it'd been so hard to tag him too. The green and red lights representing Jiazheng and Ryan respectively were stationary in a bar on the other side of the city, probably drinking as always. Chan's blue dot was heading down a nearby side-street, flickering on and off amid the electronic chaos of the commercial district.

            Shrugging, Kula headed in the direction of the flickering blue dot. It was nearly Christmas after all, wasn't it? The poor guy would probably be happy enough to see her. Besides, it was rare enough to find any of the DHS team alone, for whatever reason. Andro always hung around Chan like a guardian spirit, keeping a careful watch over his errant, painfully 'blur' leader. 

            It was truly difficult to pretend to be at ease, when you knew that the eyes of a murderous psychopath were on you. It didn't help that Andro didn't like her very much: In fact, he frankly hated her with a vengeance.

            The beeping got louder. Chan was heading her way, deciding to a take a rambling path down one of the deserted side-streets. So much the better.

            Willing her hair out to its original, full white length, Kula carefully arranged her face into an expression of naïve innocence, that was part genuine happiness and part careful calculation. People tended to be suckers for that…Well, at least till they got hit by the Freezing Execution SDM. A quick glance down the street revealed a familiar, trenchcoated figure walking down the road. It hummed a merry tune, a sickeningly cheerful one that set Kula's teeth on edge.

            Switching the device off, Kula stepped out, feeling happier than she had in a long time. It always helped to know that no matter how bad things got, there was always someone more pathetic and naïve than her.

            "Hi, Chan! Nice to-"

            The rest of the friendly greeting died on her lips.

            A far older, far taller man, sporting an evil smile on his face, continued his slow stride. Silver hair, black leather jacket, permanently depressed expression…K'.

            "You!"

            "Me," K' agreed. He tossed the ridiculous trenchcoat to the side, and flicked a small, silver object at Kula's feet. A homing beacon, already set to a certain frequency. A perfect copy of the tracker's signal. This time, he'd come prepared.

            Without a doubt, there was going to be a fight. The two had fought before, of course: Desperate, all-out struggles with no small amount of injury and collateral damage. And always, it'd ended in a frustrating stalemate, with neither quite able to overcome the other. Both burned for a final confrontation.

            Kula feinted, and lashed out with a kick. K' ducked, aiming a sweep that fell short. They began pacing, trading feints and jabs, both looking for an opening. It was a familiar dance, one of the first opening patterns burned into memory.

            "Who gave you that, anyway? A beacon's an expensive piece of work."

            "A man named Samuel Chao."

            Bolder now, K' advanced, striking out with a impressive combo of flaming punches. Kula promptly punished him with the Counter Shell, shoving him back.

            "Never heard of him, you know." Kula followed up with a One Inch this rime, barely hopped over.

            "Good." K' continued his slow, relentless offensive. Now his flaming punches were actually beginning to _hurt. _Rubbing scorched forearms, Kula tagged him twice in the shins with quick kicks, followed by a dramatic, easily-dodged axe kick.

            "I'm still more than a match for you…Alone, that is."

            Despite the apparently furious flow of the battle, the two still chatted almost amicably, as though their minds were on different matters. It was almost casual, even through the whirling of fist and feet.

            Trailing shadow images, K' slid back, stopping a respectful distance away. Kula started, wondering whether he actually intended to withdraw. She took a step in his direction, preparing to exhale an ice blast…

            "Ah. But I didn't come alone. Maxima? Whip?"

            The Canadian cyborg lumbered out from the side, Vapour Cannon primed and ready. Huge in his blue-and-white vest, the man took up position to Kula's right, blocking off the exit.

            "You called, K-dude?"

            To her left, Whip stepped into the street. She snapped her trademark weapon taut, grinning in a disturbing manner. With a resounding crack, she snapped it in Kula's direction, a practice strike.

            "Hello, Kula-chan…" Whip purred. Her smile showed teeth.

            Kula began to feel very afraid.

***********

            "This is stupid."

            Snow crunched underfoot, as Chan trod through the dingy, run-down streets of the slums. What was he doing here, anyway? Just like an idiot to return to the scene of a crime, barely a day after it was committed. In the freezing cold. And to look for an assassin who wasn't even there.

            Whatever it was, Chan was busy retracing his steps of the previous night. The trail of destruction the DHS 'Awakened' had left in their wake hadn't been fixed yet: It was much too early for that. But the bodies…Surely they couldn't have been _that fast?_

            Something told him to stopped. Chan crouched down, his breath puffing out in a white cloud before his face. The snow at his feet was slightly brown and discolored, flecked with dull streaks of crimson…

            Memory clicked. Here, he'd fought against the mages. And won.

            Chan was standing right where their leader had been…Or at least, before Requiem tore him limb from limb. The grisly images were still fresh in his mind, as well as the hole inside his soul where the Stand had been. Shuddering, Chan rose to stand, shaking off the ghastly memories…Then froze.

            The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle, as the falling snow redoubled.

            "Kula?"

            "No. Not Kula."

            There was a crunch, as booted feet touched snow. Clad entirely in black, Samuel Chao stepped out from nowhere, eyes gleaming with amusement. He toyed with a card, idly flipping it back and forth between nimble fingers.

            "Samuel?"

            "In the flesh."

            The man held the card up, revealing the form of a slavering beast, form intricately worked in silver. It held a cracked green orb between its jaws, the only thing keeping them apart…

            Chan gave a start. The tarot card, the World. No, the World-Eater.

            "Like it? I made it after I heard of your team. The 'DHS' team, was it not? Nice touch, that. No one here knows it stands for 'Dunman High School', do they?"

            Samuel made the card vanish, as Chan gaped. 

            "You're asking yourself, what I'm doing here. No reason, actually."

            "Then…Why?"

            "Because I've decided to help you. I've never really liked evil, money-grubbing corporations who try to take over the world, and I especially don't like _Japanese cartels who try to do that. Besides…Your group interests me. I'll just see how this'll work out."_

            Chan stood. He was on his guard, wary.

            "How much do you know?"

            "Enough."

            Not particularly liking where this was going, Chan considered running like hell. Sometimes, having Samuel on your side was as dangerous as having him _against you. Sometimes even more so. He simply couldn't be trusted enough._

            "Uh-uh. Don't go yet, Chan. I'm just here to give you a choice."

            Two cards snapped into Samuel's hands, face down. Once again, he held them up with twin flourishes, faces still hidden. Still wary, Chan's eyes flickered back and forth, as he quietly wondered what was going on. Some part of his mind was busy thinking whether flight was still an option.

            "The first one…"

            Flip. The first card depicted a figure clad in an odd combination of flowing robes and armor. Spidery runes, traced in gold and inlaid with gems, simply served to highlight the outfit further. The face was hidden behind a blank white mask, though a cool blue light beamed out of the single crystal eye set in the centre. It clasped a bladed polearm in one hand, holding the shaft across its chest in a defensive position.

            The Magician.

            "…Is for power."

            "Whoah. Samuel, do you actually draw them yourself?"

            "No. Every one is merely a reflection of the soul. The other card, though…"

            Flip. In a sharp contrast to the ethereal, almost otherworldly drawing of the first, the card was rendered in a classic, almost cartoonish style. Wearing a purple kimono, Kula's face peered from the flat surface. Snow swirled about her hands, giving the impression of motion.

            The High Priestess.

            "…Is to help her."

            "Is this another of your sick games? The hell did you do?!"

            "Nothing. Nothing with my own hands, anyway. Choose the Magician, and power will be yours again. Choose the High Priestess, and I'll tell you where Kula is. Your choice."

            Dead silence. Slowly, Chan took a step forward, face working frantically. His hand hovered between the cards for a moment, then drifted towards the Magician. Samuel proffered the card, smile widening. He'd always known Chan had it in him…

            The grin froze. Chan's hand closed on the High Priestess instead, gently, almost reverently. Inwardly, Samuel groaned.

            "I've disappointed you, haven't I? Sorry."

            "No. Not really. But, just maybe, I think I've overestimated you."

            "Maybe it's just the stinking country getting to me. Or, more likely, I'm just an immature loser with a crush. Whatever it is…"

            Samuel sighed. He'd thought Chan had more sense. And for a Japanese girl, of all things! God, would the sick irony of it all ever cease?

            "Alright. Down the third street, then head to the right. Hurry, and you'll get there in time."

            Chan promptly spun in the direction, preparing to sprint off.

            "Wait! Here, take this-"

            Samuel skimmed a card to Chan, the placard rectangle snapping easily into his hand. The illustration on _this _one depicted a sleek metallic robot, constructed entirely out of black steel. The arms ended in a many-socketed, razor-edged blade and a plain metal shield, with only a basic circuit pattern breaking up the monotony.

            "The Machine Emperor. Wasn't what I intended to give, but it should help."

            "Thanks, Samuel. Anything else I should know?"

            "Yep. Remember…You're a Chinese, and a Singaporean to boot. Not one of them Japs."

            "So?"

            "So start behaving the way you should! Play by your own rules, kid. Good luck…"

            Chan was already gone, duster flapping in the wind.

            "…You stupid, stupid, boy."

***********

Jiazheng was bored. After nearly drinking himself into a coma, he'd staggered outside and sobered up, through the simple process of emptying his stomach of ALL its contents. Now, vaguely light-headed and extremely ill, the swordsman watched a still bleary-eyed Ryan stared blankly into space. Judging from the way his eyes weren't blinking, the boy was either unconscious or dead.

Either way, Jiazheng envied him.

***RING RING***

He almost jumped out of his chair as Ryan's handphone sounded, a sickeningly cheerful noise in the general atmosphere of doom and gloom. Slowly, nursing a splitting headache, Ryan dragged the phone to his ear, whimpering a little at the noise.

***CLICK***

"Hello? This better be good."

            Brief silence on the other end. Then a voice. A familiar voice, one that chilled him to the very core.

            "You are not alone."

            "**_OGION_? Hello? **_Hello_**?!"**

            The line went dead, leaving only the flat beeping of the dial tone. 

***********

            The fight was a typical KOF-level brawl: In other words, completely out of control. Fire, ice and bullets were traded back and forth, reducing most of the alleyway to smoking slag. Flying bodies smashed bricks to powder, and misaimed blasts blew out windows for miles around.

            Eyes glazed over, Maxima crunched into the floor for what seemed like the thousandth time, circuits visible through the massive hole in his stomach. The cannon on his arm clicked emptily, sending a torrent of empty shells cascading to the floor.

            Whip was already a gone case. Only a battered Magnum and a limp hand protruded from a pile of solid rubble, thankfully hiding the broken mass of bone beneath. The pile occasionally twitched, as if something was busily trying to climb out, but Whip wasn't going anywhere for a while.

            K' still stood, just barely. A lacerated arm hung limp at his side, bone showing through the ugly-looking red blood that dribbled down into the snow. His face and body sported several nasty new scars where a Freezing Execution had hit him head-on: If not for the Blackout escape, it would've killed him.  But, if anything, his functional arm glowed even brighter now, white-hot with heat. Snow literally boiled away as it struck him, wrapping the man in an invisible bubble of hit.

            He spat. Shattered tooth fragments and dark blood spattered on the pavement. 

            "That hurt, bitch."

            Well, Samuel _had _told him it wasn't going to be easy. Maybe it was a bad idea to try attacking Kula in the middle of winter. Then again…

            Kula managed a tight smile. She didn't look much better, either, considering the new bruises and third-degree burns. Her vision was blurred: Well, a Vapour Cannon to the face tended to do that, at the very least. Her arms ached, where Whip's strikes had sliced welts into her flesh. 

            But all things considered…

            "Enough with the execution, then. On with the burial."

            …She was still ahead.

            "FREEZING…"

            Hands cut through the air, solidifying it into a small cube. Perfectly on cue, snow swirled some more, filling the air with more white fog. Defiant to the very end, K' simply stood, reaching into his outfit for his final trick. 

            "…EXCECUTION! DIE!!"

            His hand snapped forward, hurling a small, black blur through the air. It was a clumsy one-handed toss, but well-aimed and timed. A cheap pair of sunglasses caught Kula in the face, knocking her back a full pace. She caught it purely on reflex, blinking in surprise.

            "That didn't hurt."

            "No. But this will."

            A fist that would've killed anyone else ploughed into her face. K' waded in, kicking and punching. The first rule about fighting Kula was _not to let her catch her breath. Last time he'd done that, she pulled off something that almost froze his ass. _

            K' changed his attack, and planted a foot into her solar plexus, hard. Kula flew back and crashed into the door of an abandoned office- Glass shards rained down all around her, eliciting another cry of pain. Running the short distance between them, K' jumped, twisting in midair to aim both feet right in front of him-

            -Again, Kula looked up just in time to see oncoming pain. The door splintered off its hinges, sending K' rolling off to one side as they crashed through. Breathing heavily, he prepared to deal the coup de grace, raising a heavy fist…

            ***KA-BLAM***

            K' froze. A warning shot whistled past his head, burning a sizable hole in the wall right next to his head. There was the audible click of another round being chambered, as the unknown gunman took aim.

            "Don't move. I don't know how to use this well enough to only injure you."

            The speaker's Japanese was abominable, delivered in an exaggerated tone to facilitate greater understanding. Only one person spoke like that…

            K' groaned. Of all people, it _had _to be Chan, always turning up at exactly the wrong moment. Resignedly, he raised both hands over his head, abandoning all pretence of offence. The man cast a regretful look down at the unconscious and barely breathing Kula, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He'd come so close to killing her this time-

            "I said, DON'T MOVE!!"

            Normally, K' would've spun, charged, and reduced the mage to ashes. But today…With his entire team lying around half-dead, and with most of his powers exhausted, he simply wasn't in the right state to attack. Besides…Even _he couldn't dodge a bullet from that gun at this range. _

            "Do you actually have any idea what you're doing?"

            "Yeah. Or at least…Kind of. Leave Kula alone, take your team, and leave."

            ***CLICK-whirrclickkk***

            Somewhere behind him, Maxima rose to his feet. Bloody slush packed his wounds: The massive rents and dents in his metal frame was clearly visible. Like some nightmare monster, his face flapped loose from his steel skull, held on by a few threads and a prayer. But very much alive, his arm cannon still tracked Chan, moving stiffly like the turret of a juggernaut tank

            "I have a better idea, kid. Why don't…_You _leave? Before we do something…Permanent."

            ***Whirrrclicckkk***

            Another standoff. For a long moment, they stood frozen in a perfect tableau, three shadows silhouetted against a white background. Then everyone moved at once.

            "THE WORLD!!!"

            "VAPOUR CANNON!"

            "**_CHAIN DRIVE_****_!!!"_  **

            Nothing hit. A metal fist pulverized rock, kicking up another wild spray of snow. Flaming fists whistled through empty air, and a pair of cheap sunglasses shattered against the wall. 

            "The hell? Where'd he go?"

            "Forget that. Kula's still…"

            Maxima's voice died away. Kula's body was gone, with only an imprint of her form in the snow to mark her presence. Smudged footsteps lead down the street, as a white trenchcoat slowly fluttered down from above.

            "Damn."

            K' ground the garment into the dirt. 

            "We lost her this time. Guess I forgot that stupid kid could stop time…He's still the same pathetic moron he always was."

            "Should we go after him, Dash-man? I think I still can catch him."

            "In your condition? No. We'll retreat…For now. Besides…"

            He looked down the street, eyes glowing. All around him, snow boiled and sizzled away. The trenchcoat burst into brief flame, quickly collapsing in a pile of ashes. An unpleasant stench filled the air, followed by thick, choking smoke.

            "There'll always be another time. Let him run."

***********

            "Ryan, who was that?"

            No answer. Jiazheng waved a hand in front of Ryan's suddenly blank face, not really expecting a reaction. His hands still held the phone in a white-knuckled grip, crushing the metal with little, crunching noises.

            Then Ryan laughed. A slow, high-pitched chuckle that sent shivers down Jiazheng's spine. His face seemed to unfreeze, fixing itself in a mask of terrifying madness. Very slowly, he replaced his handphone at his belt, now just barely recognizable.

            "So he's alive."  

            Ryan shook his head ruefully, seemingly talking to himself. Who'd known that Ogion had it in him? To live through the apocalyptic finale of the previous year, Ogion would've had to single-handedly defeat Zero, make his way past Diana and Foxy, AND escape the Zero Cannon's blast radius before everything went boom.

            Yet somehow, he had done it. Then again…it was just as likely he was a rotting, decomposing corpse, and someone had simply faked the call. But what would be the point? After all…

            "Yo! Snap outta it, pod! Who was it?"

            "Ogion."

            "But he's dead!"

            "Apparently not. Of course, it's probably a trick." Ryan shoved his chair back, teetering dangerously on two legs. He assumed a mock-pensive pose, chin in hand, a parody of a detective pondering a problem.

            "Then what do we do?"

            "Well, first we-"

            Then a bottle smashed on his head. Glass splinters and alcohol flew in all directions, followed by no small amount of pain. Jiazheng rolled from his chair in a single smooth motion, blade already in hand. Through a series of rapid mental calculations he couldn't possibly articulate, Jiazheng traced the trajectory of the bottle…To the group of smirking bikers over there?

            Very deliberately, Ryan wiped gummy splinters from his skull. He turned, fixing the thrower with a stare that promised death. A huge, buff individual, clad in a black leather jacket with spikes, met his glare with a smirk. Similar faces grinned from three other tables, now the temporary domain of the local biker gang.

            Knowing what was about to come next, the bar patrons began to scatter. Some of the more enterprising began to place bets.

            "Whut? You looking at me, asshole?"

            A sphere of lightning screamed across the room, crackling and spitting sparks. It hit the biker with all the force of a sledgehammer, blasting a ragged hole right through him. He spasmed, eyes wide with horror, as electrical discharge forced his limbs into grotesque motion.  

            That priceless look was still on his face when he finally quit breathing.

            Terrified silence. More shocked than outraged, the other bikers considered the smoking body of their comrade. Uncertainly, they began to move, drawing chains, razors and other spiked/barbed implements of pain.

            "Good moves, kid!"

            "Yeah! Bruce Lee stuff!"

            "But Bruce Lee's a _dead_ kike-"

            "As you soon will be!"

            Ryan inhaled a deep breath, drawing on the fires of his rage for the horrible, gratuitous violence that would soon follow. Jiazheng began the first moves of the practice kata, his sword swinging easily from side to side.

            "**_NO ONE-" _**

            The words came out in an incredible roar. Several people covered their ears.

            "**_INSULTS BRUCE LEE-_"**

            An unnatural wind blew up, sending dust, garbage and debris spiraling away. 

            "**_IN FRONT OF ME!!!"_**

            "Huh?"

            Jiazheng leapt forward, and knocked out the nearest biker's teeth with a blow from his sword hilt. He felled the next with an elbow to the skull, and kneed the next in the groin, before spinning round in a dramatic whirlwind attack to slice fingers off the next.

            "That means we can start now."

            ** **

***********

General Hospital…

            Chan slumped on a cheap plastic bench outside the ER ward, totally exhausted. Gummy blood, none of it his own, was splattered on his clothes: In accordance with the classic laws of _any _fight, Kula had bled an incredible amount of blood, even despite his frantic attempts to staunch the major wounds. 

Arms aching, Chan had somehow managed to lug her semiconscious form to the nearest hospital: Carrying a damsel in distress looked great on paper, but it kinda lost its charm after the first five hundred meters. Thank God she wasn't all that heavy.

But now what?

Yep, that was the question, all right. He'd been aimlessly wandering around the entire day, and he still hadn't found the answer. The mad flight, looking over his shoulder all the way, hadn't helped his mood at all.

So now, Kula slumbered safely in one of the ER wards, while an unsmiling nurse forced a cup of lukewarm coffee into Chan's hands. He'd been manhandled into an uncomfortable seat, and told to stay there, in no uncertain terms.

 "I _knew _I would find you here."

He looked up. Somehow, Claire sat on the bench directly opposite, still clad in her usual odd assortment of clothing. Looking none the worse for wear, she idly pared her fingernails with one of those nasty little knives, not even casting a glance in his direction.

"I assume that this means everyone got out, right?"

"Yeah. The entire gang's already here."

There was a brief flickering of motion, and then Alvin was slouching against the wall, looking every bit a teenage delinquent. He'd pulled a pair of dark glasses over his eyes and kept well away from the light, scratching at the brownish bandages that totally encased his arms. 

Karmen was suddenly there too, sporting obvious stitches and bandages. She still seemed perfectly functional, though there was a slight unsteadiness in her step, and an overly pale, seemingly bloodless face. 

"Where's Yiming?"

"Recovering. He got hit by an autocannon round, can you believe it? Then he used his own arm as a club, and finally stuck it back on. I _think we found back most of the pieces, though it'll be a while before he grows everything back."_

"You really tell it as it is, don't you? No, don't answer that. How did the raid go?"

Reprising her role as de facto leader of the group, Karmen spoke up this time, as always. "Good. It'll be months before the place functions again. Of course, if not for thatintervention, things might have gone differently…"

"Wait. What intervention?"

"We don't know, either. It was at exactly the right time, though."

"Yeah. If not for that distraction, we'll be dead." Alvin shifted, scratching at his bandaged arms. He looked more than slightly uncomfortable recounting the battle, as if the unpleasant memory of excessive carnage alone pained him.

"See, right after your dramatic escape, things got worse. Imagine the scene: Completely surrounded, rapidly running out of ammunition, and taking more and more wounds each time we tried to run. The place had been thoroughly trashed, but the last row of soldiers was forming up for a final, suicide charge."

His voice went flat.

"And then the shadows started to move. It was like a wave-As if the night itself had come alive to envelope them. Darkness simply swept forward over the entire row, and engulfed everything. There was complete silence: I'll never forget that for as long as I live. Then- God, I can't take this. Claire, _you tell it."_

" 'kay! Everything went a bit weird for a while…Even the explosions sounded like whispers. Then the bad guys started to scream and scream and scream. We couldn't see what happened to them…Too bad…"

Claire giggled, but there was a forced note to it this time. 

"Hmmm…"

Another freak coincidence. Someone was definitely going out  of his way to keep them all alive…Something big was afoot. What the hell was going on? 

"Are you waiting for someone, Chan? Did everyone get away?"

"I think they got Andro."

The words almost stuck in his throat, a chilling reminder that maybe they weren't invulnerable, after all. 

"Andro?" Karmen shook her head once. "No way. He's probably still on the run, but I don't think they caught him. It simply staggers belief."

"_Rightttt_. As for you guys?"

"Fine, fine. By the way, we want you to have this…"

Karmen drew a small, red orb from somewhere within her coat, and tossed it to Chan. Chan caught it handily, fingers running over the Chinese character for 'Stone' carved into the exterior.

"Yiming's stone device? Thanks, but I don't really need…"  

"Don't worry. It has exactly one shot left. Just activate it when you need a shield, okay? I have a hunch that it'll come in useful…Or at least, we won't be needing it much longer."

With a shrug, Chan shoved the orb into a pocket and strode off, giving a brief nod of thanks. Yet _another odd encounter…Hell, maybe it was time to get his Paradox level checked. _

***********

Midnight…

            Tired, hung-over and bone-weary, Ryan and Jiazheng opened the door to the rented room, not even bothering with caution. Both sported a few new bruises and assorted lumps: Ryan had managed to get a good, satisfying bar brawl started. After a long battle involving chandeliers and lots of broken furniture, they'd slipped back off into the night, victorious.

            But now…

            "Was there a point to that, Ryan?"

            Jiazheng felt his aching head, and winced. An overeager drunk had broken a bottle over it, right before Jiazheng had kicked him through the wall. Blood ran freely from his leg where a needle-pointed stiletto had caught him, and he nursed several bruised ribs.

            Ryan was weaving unsteadily, mildly concussed. He hadn't said much since falling from the second storey in a phenomenally successful turnbuckle strike. His bad landing hadn't helped much, considering the solidity of the broken table and chairs. Rubbing a bloody nose, he grinned ruefully, revealing a gap where a tooth had been.

            "No, not really. But guess what? I feel better now. Yo, Chan? You in?!"

            The noise of muffled thumps and thuds resounded throughout the room, as Chan dragged his suitcases out from his room. He was missing _another trenchcoat and looked slightly the worse for wear. Dull brown streaks of blood, not his own, stained his black shirt._

            "Yeah. I'm packing."

            "Packing? What's up, man?"

            "My flight leaves tomorrow, 6 a.m. I've already called my parents…They'll be waiting at Changi airport. It's a six hour flight, and I intend to get a bit of sleep, okay?"

            Ryan blinked, stunned. 

            "Why? We can still stay for another week. Did something happen?"

            "No, nothing. It's just…There's no longer any point, is there? Something _big is coming down, another of those end-of-the-world plots, but I'm getting the hell outta here while I can. No point waiting for the other shoe to drop, eh?"_

            "I see. So this is where we part ways, dude. Jiazheng and I are staying. We're gonna look for Andro. Care to help, man?"

            "Sorry. Maybe next year, man. No hard feelings."

            Somehow, Chan managed to plaster a big, fake smile onto his face. He tapped fists with Jiazheng, and shook Ryan's hand, before vanishing back into the comfort of his dark, unlit room.

            "Now what, Ryan?"

            "God, don't ask _me_! _I don't know! Whatever it is…I'll begin with a few hours of wholesome television, hopefully of something loud and meaningless."_

***********

            Once again, Chan strode through the great library of his mind, a wandering spirit locked in his own psyche. He was walking the razor's edge, he knew: The books he'd read on the subject told of mages who'd sunk into comas, never to return. It simply wasn't a good idea…Wait, scratch that. It was a fucking _bad idea._

            He knew the risks, of course. They were burned into you the day you started slinging spells. However, Chan simply wanted a break from reality, and there was nowhere else to go. Besides, he was curious about the odd chain of connected events: Perhaps a period of reflection would give him a better perspective on them when he awoke.

            Like a wayward spirit, Chan's mental projection drifted in the treasure room, gazing into the endless darkness. Roiling, barely defined shapes coiled in that false night, twisting and turning like restless serpents. Every 'dark' enchantment he knew, every bad memory had made that spot a home, a wellspring of corruption in an otherwise pristine world. 

            Something was inside, growing, mutating. Fed by need and nameless emotions, it was developing on its own, changing to fit the imagery of the landscape. All he needed to do was to get a look at it. 

            Yet, for a long time, Chan hesitated, not daring to take the plunge. It'd stopped him last time: It could probably stop him now. So he floated outside, chin in palm, watching and waiting for an opening.

***********

            The abandoned shack was well-lit and cheery on the inside, a sharp contrast to the abject poverty and filth all around it. Inside the single room, a massive wooden table had been set up, once again out of place. An expensive lava lamp sat on a corner of the desk, filling the place with a soft red light.

            Samuel sat at that table, his eyes intent on the elaborate spread of cards in front of him. Nimble fingers flickered back and forth, adding to the carefully-arranged stacks already present. 

            "Samuel, would you stop that? You _know _I don't believe in that mumbo-jumbo. Neither should you."

            Allison stood in a corner of the room, keeping to the shadows as was her wont. She toyed with a heavy golden lighter, rubbing her thumb across the emblazoned skull. A non-stop clicking noise emitted from it, as Allison flipped the cap open again and again.

            "This is my unique brand of magic, Allison. Enhancing the odds, changing the probabilities…It's already bailed our sacrificial lambs out of trouble. Coincidental magic is very real."

            Four cards dominated the center of the spread: The Chariot, the Star, the Devil and the World. Each bore Ryan's, Jiazheng's, Andro's, or Chan's face respective, depicting them in a somewhat idealized light. All around, face-down cards encircled them, spreading out like a six-pointed sunburst.

            Samuel slid the Emperor card under the World, and removed the Devil from the center of the circle. He added the tarot card to the outer ring of the circle, creating a new point.

            "One has already fallen into the hands of the enemy. There's nothing I can do to help him now. As for the other…"

            Flip. The Death, a leering skull-faced reaper, hovered just outside the borders of the circle, away from outside influence.

            "…He is worse than lost. So I have three pieces left."

            Allison sighed ruefully. 

            "Look, all the intervention came from me, not anyone else. So you have limited omniscience. But you're not all-powerful, and you can't influence the world with a deck of cards."

            "Bet? Then what if I do _this…_"

            Samuel drew a card from the pile: The Hanged Man. He incinerated it between his fingers with a brief burst of emerald flame, letting the ashes slip between his fingers. Allison let out a yelp, as her lighter flared to life of its own accord, searing her hand. Cursing, she dropped it, shaking her singed appendage.

            "That was a freak coincidence. Not magic."

            "Want me to try it again?"

            "On second thoughts…No. No thank you."

            "Good."

            He turned his attention back to the table, watching as events unfolded. Normally, things would follow the natural order, in which the predictable happened. Coincidental magic actually wasn't all that much: It allowed you to add freak 'coincidences' to the fabric of time, but something like turning the Statue of Liberty into Swiss Cheese was definitely out. Still, Samuel didn't intend to do that today. 

            All he needed to do was to make something happen a mere minute faster…

***********

            "It always comes down to this, doesn't it? Watching really bad shows in a language I don't even understand while waiting for time to pass." 

            Ryan mused over this fact of life in front of the television, fingers glued to the remote. Thinking these deep and profound thoughts didn't come easily, especially when your head felt like it was about to split entirely in two.

            "Ah, hell. This sucks. Stupid language, anyway."

            He drew his arm back, wondering whether he could muster sufficient force to send the remote right through the screen. Aiming high, Ryan prepared to throw…

            ***BZZT-BZZT***

            "KOF NEWFLASH: DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ESAKA TEAM!!!"

            "What the hell?"

            Ryan slowly lowered the remote, wondering where this was supposed to lead. The screen flickered, switching from some weird animation about a schizophrenic teenager to the inside of a busy studio. A frazzled-looking reporter clutched a three-ring binder, big hair sticking out in all directions. 

            "Uh…Well…We can't really explain it. The Esaka Team, fan favorites and three-time winner of the KOF Tournament, has apparently gone missing."

            He winced and shuddered, as if anticipating the furious outburst from the audience. Furtively, he flipped to another page, and continued reading, this time at machine-gun speed.

            "According to a letter left in their hotel suite, they are withdrawing from the tourney, citing 'personal matters' as a reason…"

            Wince, nervous twitch.

            "…As well as a desire to make 'Those lying bastards trying to conquer the world eat some fist.' However, startling new evidence has come to light that this could be the result of the three thousand death threats the team has received since the very beginning, most by underworld elements of disgruntled supporters of other pugilists. Police are currently looking into the matter..."

Silence. The newcaster pulled off his headphones and tossed them to the floor, face going pale. The three-ring binder quickly followed.

"…Forget it. I'm not putting my ass on the line for this bullshit. Remember, I'm just the messenger! _Please _don't kill me! I have three kids to feed! I…"

***BZZT-BZZT***

The signal cut off, suddenly flipping to an empty studio. A dry voiceover provided the rest of the information, devoid of human life or expression.

"***Ahem*** Due to the inexplicable loss of the Esaka Team, their previous opponents will take their places instead. Thus, the DHS Team will battle the NESTS Team next week, usual time. Remember, wherever else you think you heard it, you heard it at CCTV first. It looks to be an exciting match folks. Don't forget to place your bets. Thankyouverymuchandhaveaniceday."

***click***

The television screen went dark, seemingly of its own accord. Ryan stood there for a few moments, letting the information sink in. 

Then he smiled.

"Oh, yeah. CHAN! JIAZHENG! GET YOUR ASSES HERE! NOW!!!"

***********

A Few Minutes Later…

            "So we're back in the game, huh?"

            "Seems that way."

The group clustered around their new coffee table, recently replaced after Jiazheng sliced right through it. Untouched biscuits and mugs of coffee sat by the side, with no one even bothering to glance in their direction. There was a palpable feeling of tension and excitement, slowly boiling into overload. Right now, it was still the calm before the storm, with everyone pretending to take the breaking noise as calmly as possible.

"Well, then. You guys know what to do?"

"Yep. Just give the word, Chan."

"All right…GET MOVING!!! Ryan, call the airport, tell them to cancel the flights back. Jiazheng, get on the line and notify Karmen's group. We'll need a Striker for next week. I'll extend the hotel reservations and e-mail our families: Looks like we won't be coming home for some time. But before all that administrative bullshit…"

"Yeah?"

"Scrounge up whatever weaponry you can. Jiazheng, you're a swordsman, check Andro's room to see if he left anything. Ryan, see if there's something left in the junk pile, anything else we can use. If not, siphon off _all _the energy. Every last drop. If Ignis wants a message, we'll give one to him. Something to show that _no one _screws with us and lives."

"I don't get it, Chan. What're we gonna do?"

The words stuck in his throat. Oddly enough, considering the circumstances. Ryan quickly answered in his place.

"We're going to fight the NESTS team. And we're going to kill them. We're going to kill every last one of the bastards."

***********

The meeting soon broke up, as the entire group scampered off to their respective rooms, digging through suitcases full of luggage and assorted junk to find the few gems hidden there. Jiazheng made a beeline for Andro's room, and promptly began to plunder every blade he could get his hands on, somehow managing to conceal them all in his outfit.

An unearthly glow shone from Ryan's room, followed by choking smoke and a string of virulent curses as several objects exploded under his less-than-careful examination. The cursing only intensified as the light increased, now shot through with a distinctly dangerous-looking radioactive glow.

Chan barely noticed it. Silently, he walked back to his own room, and carefully drew a small box from the innermost pocket of his luggage. He stood there for a long time, rubbing his fingers over the smooth, carved ivory. There was a definite thrum of power, a vibration of energy emanating right from the container. The force rolled through the room in waves, one after another, a gentle tugging on one's mystical senses.

Chan exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding, and slowly began to open the box. One year ago, upon returning home, he'd made this. Still burning with shame, defeat and a deep, deep hatred of his new enemies, Chan had poured all the power he could summon into six small artifacts. 

It was a bad thing he'd done, he knew. That was the first time he'd actually made anything simply to kill. Requiem…Well, that was a little hard to explain, but he hadn't really asked for it. The Mage Cannon? It's all for the gunslinger look, friend.

But this…

This was very different. 

Carefully, Chan removed six bullets from the box, one after another. Each felt deathly cold to their touch, as if mere presence drained light and life from the room. Capped with reinforced steel, they would've gone through bulletproof armor like tissue paper, even if not for the special enchantments placed on them, spells made specially to kill the Awakened. 

Chan snapped open the gun, and loaded the entire clip in. The bastards they were meant for probably _deserved _this fate, anyway. If not…Hey, who cared? God judges. Man just sent people to him to be judged.

"Let the Reckoning begin."

(Sorry to take so long with this chapter. It may be a bit anticlimactic, but this is part where it wires down a bit after the gratuitous fight scene of the previous chapter. There's still something wrong with my computer, but my exams are over, so I'll be able to update more frequently now. Until next time…Bye!) 


	13. Deathmatch

**Deathmatch**

            Christmas Eve. A time of joy, giving and wonder, rapidly fading away in an increasingly commercialized, money-grubbing world. Tokyo was alive with lights, glittering with a brilliant radiance visible even through the blanket of gently-falling snowflakes drifting down from above. Far off in the distance, the multi-faceted dome of the Stadium gleamed like a polished diamond, lit from within by a soft, golden glow.

            Two dark figures perched precariously on a crumbling building, watching the ebb and flow of the tide of humanity far below. They ignored the entire spectacle, ignored even the sickeningly cheerful tunes piped into the streets from the nearby concert hall. 

            It was deathly cold up here. Chill winds buffeted the cracked concrete surface, sending breath puffing out in small white clouds. Silhouetted against the harsh glare of the massive monitor behind them, they stood out against the skyline like specters of death cresting the horizon.

            "Refresh my memory, Samuel. Why, exactly, are we here?"

            If anything, Allison's voice was colder than the wind. Her companion made no reply, simply content to sit and watch. At length, he spoke, voice distant and distracted.

            "Because we have our own role to play in this drama. We just have to wait for the signal."

            "Hmmph. You're just too cheap to get tickets."

            "True."

            And far behind them, the concert played on, as a mahou shoujo sang another vomit-inducing tune of peace and love to the world.

* * *

            The black limo glided along down the streets, making no more noise than the winter wind. Smoky glass windows hid the precious cargo inside, concealing the DHS Team from the eyes of psychotic fans.

            Inside the limousine, Chan chuckled sourly, appreciating the overwhelming irony of it all. They were only famous moments _before _and _after _fights: No one even recognized him when he went for a walk. Besides, considering where the group was headed, psychotic fans would soon be the last of their problems.

            Even thick glass couldn't block out the onslaught of happiness from the speakers outside. To make matters worse, the small plascreen television welded to the seat directly in front of him was tuned to some sort of live concert…Some band supposedly all the way from 'Teito'. 

            To Chan's right, Ryan had his earphones on, jammed securely into his ears. Preoccupied with Linkin Park's 'Crawling' and watching a slim, silver-haired girl sing, he was totally distracted.

            Chan rapped his shoulder, drawing his attention. Tearing his eyes from the screen, Ryan pulled one headphone off.

            "What?"

            "Uh…Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this…But I think that she's a _he._"

            Silence.

            "What? But she's wearing a skirt…And that angel getup! What straight guy would wear that, for Christsakes?"

            " …So? Look for the Adam's apple."

            Ryan looked back for a second, then hurriedly looked away, mumbling 'fucked up' under his breath. Somehow feeling much better, Chan grinned once. He leaned back, settling down in his seat to enjoy the rest of the mercifully brief ride.

* * *

Later…

            The office was overly-opulent, like a decaying fruit dropped into the filth of the gutter. Everything was cheap, made to look like something priceless: Imitation portraits adorned the wall, filled with avant-grade art. The DHS team had been ushered in through the plywood doors, decorated by trails of golden glitter. A simpering manservant had offered chairs to 

            "What?"

            "You heard me. There's been a change of plans…They come right from the sponsors. Sorry, guys."

            Ah. That explained a lot. Chan pushed the plush chair a bit further from the tournament executive's table, suddenly disgusted with the man. For a long moment, he debated the merits of gunning the executive down on the spot with staying out of jail, finding the thought of senseless carnage oddly soothing.

            He meditated on that pleasant image whilst the explanation continued.

            "Now, rather than the usual one-on-one fight, the first battle will be a tag-team match, featuring Foxy and…Someone called 'Angel.' Never heard of her, though."

            Small cough, shuffling of papers.

            "Right after that, the winning side will choose one surviving tag member to continue with the next fight, which will resume IMMEDIATELY."

            The last word sounded like a death knell. Without Andro, it was a losing proposition. Three versus four…Simple mathematics determined the outcome. Even if they won the first match, that left two people, at most, to face off against the other THREE members of the NESTS team.

            "However … "

            Jiazheng's ears pricked up at that word.

            "However?"

            "However, in the interests of fair play, you can substitute an 'Another Striker' for Andro, in light of his disappearance." A small, thin smile. "Wouldn't do to disappoint the crowds after all, would it?"

            Chan stood up abruptly, sending the chair smashing to the ground. He dusted himself off briskly and started for the exit, ignoring the startled protests aimed his way.

            "Ryan, Jiazheng! Let's go. We have just the man for the job…"

* * *

            ***BEEP … BEEP … BEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP***

            "Damnit, Alvin. Pick up the _phone_!!!"

            ***CHA-Click**

            "Hello. If you're an insurance salesman, put the phone down before I …"

            "Wait! It's me, Chan!"

            Yep. Alvin was just the man to fill the empty space on the team, at least for now. Chan had called him, hoping against hope that the other Stand-wielder was in, or at least in the vicinity of the decommissioned warehouse the Cartel Team called 'home'. 

            Hey, at least it was cheaper than the school hostel.

            At least Alvin was home. Chan, however, was calling at a very bad time.

            "Chan? Isn't it too late to be calling?"

            "Allllvvviinnnn....Come back to bed." cooed a voice somewhere in the room with Alvin.

            Great. Chan slapped his forehead in embarrassment. Claire was there. This was perfect. Just one more complication he didn't need.

            "Alvin. Something's come up. Meet us at the arena as soon as you can damn well get there."

            "Is it a paying job?"

            Chan sighed, feeling somehow irritable. "I don't know, but if you're not at the arena sometime in the next hour, I will personally hunt you down and defenestrate you on the spot when I find you."

            " ... What if I'm on the first floor?" he asked.

            "Then I will make certain that you are at the right altitude to properly do it. Do I make myself clear?"

            There was a sound as if he'd set the receiver down, followed by the faint indications of an argument. Then, after a few minutes of silence, he picked it up.

            "Anything I should bring?" he asked in a very sheepish voice.

            "I don't care if you bring the entire bloody Black Watch with you. Just. Be. There."

            " ... " He hung up.

* * *

            Alvin set the phone down, and gave Claire the death stare. Fully clothed, she lounged against the sofa, polishing a needle on her sleeve. Claire met the glare with a puppy-eyed look, one that could have **_possibly_ **been mistaken for an expression of innocence.

            "Don't _do _that. It was funny the _first_ time, Claire."

            "Aww…" She pouted. "You're no fun."

            "And put the needles away. Please."

* * *

Even Later…

            In the stadium itself, the DHS team amped themselves up for combat, running through last-minute physical and mental preparations. The happy songs blasting from the speakers lightened the atmosphere somewhat, yet set taut nerves a-twanging.

            Every remaining member was armed to the teeth. This was to be the first major confrontation this year, discounting the bloody battle just a mere week ago. 

            Chan was ready to rock. The Mage Cannon rode in his holster, polished to mirror-bright perfection. The orb rested in a small leather pouch, right next to the Emperor card. Extra clips and a brand-new trenchcoat completed his arsenal, all variously enchanted.

            Jiazheng hadn't changed much. He _did _carry a short wakizashi, more suited to close combat than his katana. A wakizashi, if you didn't know, is a short sword designed to be wielded in your left hand while you have a katana in your right. Jiazheng with two swords looked like a true modern-day samurai…Or at least, a grungy, depressive one.

            The swordsman had also looted Andro's collection of blades, concealing whatever he could carry under a nondescript duster. He literally clanked as he walked, a living cutlery collection.

            Ryan was the only one who'd disdained a weapon, preferring to rely on his fists. His gloves crackled with brief bursts of electricity, barely visible in the dim light. A black-and-gold ensemble hid a cut-down Kevlar vest, just in case the opposing team decided to pack heavy artillery. He had his headphones clamped solidly to his skull, eyes closed as he zoned out the happy music. You could dimly hear the faint strands of 'Crawling' blaring into his brain, if you sat close enough.

            The last member of the team sat apart from all the others, preferring to keep his own counsel. Alvin sat stock-still, eyes straight forward, trying to shut off the relentlessly cheerful soundtrack. He was extremely close to losing it, waiting for the faintest excuse to unleash elemental destruction.

            Chan cleaned and polished his gun obsessively, trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stop. The black crystal rounds pulsed faintly in their metal casings, betraying the instability inherent in all of them. These were literally miniature black holes contained in a thin mineral layer, kept solid by steady application of magic. When they hit something…

            Boom.

            Jiazheng let out a sigh, shifting uncomfortably. The long wait was slowly getting to him, undermining his resolve bit by bit. Who knew what monstrosities would be unleashed by the other side? Despite the incredible amount of violence he'd already endured, fighting had never come easy to him-He hoped it never would.

            "Yo, Chan."

            "Yeah?"

            "We're going to have to kill them, right?"

            "Yes. Something wrong with that? I killed _seventeen people_ last week. Most of them couldn't hurt me when they tried. Hey…"

            Ryan snorted, unsnapping the headphones. He looked almost relaxed, despite the general cloud of fear that hung above all their heads.

            "Stop the angst, man. You're just sad that you have to kill your girl."

            Silence. 

            "And so what if I am? Hell, I don't even shave regularly-"

            "Deal with it."

            Another complete silence, as Alvin cut in.

            "Rationalize about it later, Chan. But if the time comes, and you can't do it…"

            Small grin. A glimpse of white teeth flashing in the semi-darkness.

            "I'll do it for you. After all, I'm here to make sure no one chickens out."

            "Geez … It's _great_ to have friends."

            "Ah. That explains why you insisted."

            After an incredible amount of phone calls, threats, and good, old-fashioned begging, they'd managed to proclaim Alvin Andro's "Another Striker". Despite protests that it wasn't strictly legal, the request had come through in the end. 

            Ryan shook his head. They couldn't fight like this, all worried and shaken. 

            ***THOOOMMM***

            Somewhere above, lightning flashed, an interloper from the coming storm. Black clouds swirled overhead like a miniature cyclone, as if even the elements had come to watch the outcome of this clash.

            Completely unnoticed, the speaker burned out. No one cared.

            "Look, guys … Let's not think about this just yet, 'kay? Think _happy _thoughts. It's Christmas … Wonder what our families are up to?"

            "My sister's probably digging through the deep-freezer to find her presents."

            That got a brief, nervous chuckle from the group.

            "Good, that's good. And you, Alvin?"

            "Leave me out of this… "

            "Okay. The others are probably-"

            A roar emanated from the ring outside, an exhalation of excitement mingled with bloodlust. The other team was already out. Like it or not, the fight was about to begin.

            Chan took a deep breath of the metallic air, trying to let out the tension he felt. His hands still shook, almost too badly for him to hold the Mage Cannon. With an effort of will, he brought them back under control.

            Just barely.

            "Right, guys. It's time to go. Ready?"

            Nods all around. 

            "Remember, if any of us don't make it, the wills are in Ryan's briefcase. There's a full explanation, just to be safe. And…Crap. I'm no good at this. I just wanted to say, good luck, guys."

            "That was _really _lame, dude. Think of something better next time."

            "Shut up. Can we just go?"

* * *

            Alvin and Ryan strode into the ring, to an accompaniment of noisy cheers. Ever contemptuous, Alvin shrugged it off as beneath his notice, shrouded in his own personal field of gloom. Ryan evoked a single bolt of crackling lightning, flinging it straight up to impact the ceiling. The resounding crash, followed by a brief spark shower, only served to increase the volume of the cheers. 

            "Quit playing around, Ryan. Our opponents await."

            "All right, all right. Killjoy."

            From the other side, Foxy likewise walked in, accompanied by a stunning platinum blonde in an extremely…Well, revealing outfit. They got more than their fair share of catcalls and whistles. Several numbers went up on placards, cutting a white line across the crowd.

            **"AND NOW … A VERY SPECIAL FIGHT."******

            "You shouldn't have come, Ryan. I was hoping I wouldn't have to kill you." Fox spoke in the brief lull between the announcer's speech, hand on her rapier. Her companion looked all too happy at the prospect of bloodshed, blue eyes glaring solely at Alvin.

            "Heh. For whatever it's worth, I appreciate that."

            "ANOTHER ANDRO … " 

            Alvin winced at that name.

            **"RYAN LIM V.S. FOXY AND ANGEL, IN A TAG-TEAM ****BATTLE****."******

            "To the death?"

            Foxy inclined her head, looking mildly regretful.

            "Of course."

            Angel began smiling. Alvin created a length of steel vine, drawing it in and out of his sleeve. Just behind him, Macabre materialized, fondling its bloodstained knife with sanguine glee.

            **"LIVE AND LET DIE.**** ROUND ONE … FIGHT!"**

            Then, things began to happen, very, very fast.

            Foxy's rapier flickered into her sword arm, the business end aimed straight for Ryan's nose. Ryan twirled aside, dodging… right before Alvin and Macabre ploughed into her, hacking and slashing away. Angel's fist whirled past his face, followed by a dainty crescent kick that almost knocked all his teeth out.

            "Sorry big boy," Angel breathed, voice low and sultry. "You'll have to handle me first."

            Ryan smiled back. Then, he slugged her with all his might, followed by a powerful Hiryu-No-ken kick that sent Angel skidding away across the floor.

            Rolling with the blow, Angel skidded to a hard stop. She flipped back to her feet, bruises already fading. Blinking once, Ryan dropped into combat stance, preparing himself for a slugfest. 

            To the side, Alvin and Foxy battled, trading vicious blows. Too close-in to use her rapier, Foxy punched at Alvin with the sword's hilt, trying to avoid Macabre madly stabbing knife. Alvin answered with a swing of his wires, slicing a bloody trough in her arm.

            Both battered and bruised, the two fell away.

            "I know you," Foxy hissed, snapping her weapon up. "You're Alvin. One of the failures." 

            She feinted low, then drove the sword towards his throat. Alvin caught it on the wires, sending sparks flying through the air. Macabre circled behind her, searching for an opening. 

            "Is that what they're calling me now? How apt."

            Foxy attacked again, moving in a smooth dance of efficiency and grace. Alvin met the assault head-on, vines clawing the headpiece from her hair. Totally furious now, Foxy punched the rapier past Alvin's defenses, impaling his shoulder. 

Cursing, Alvin spun, tearing the blade from his shoulder. Smoke hissed from the bloody wound, slowly trickling away to nothing. Macabre let out a high wail of pain, shuddering as an identical wound sprouted from his shoulder.

            "Blessed … I hate blessed weapons," Alvin snarled, his face a rictus of agony. He spun around in a single smooth circle, boot exploding into Foxy's face.

            Foxy didn't reply. She couldn't, jaw smashed in two from the kick. Slowly, bone re-knitted, erasing away the boot print. Murder in her eyes, Foxy tossed the rapier to her left hand, fingers tracing an intricate pattern through the air.

            "She's casting! **_GET DOWN!!_**"

            Ryan interposed himself between the two, just as a volley of white bolts tore through the air. Where they struck Ryan, nothing happened - In fact, he even seemed slightly revitalized. Where they struck Alvin, flesh and bone disintegrated, boiling away to nothing. 

            Foxy's sword roared down overhead to slice Ryan in two. White lightning crackled along its steel length, turning the blessed weapon into a divine scourge. 

            Ryan grabbed it: The power grabbed him. White force dived into his flesh, searing away wounds, burning whatever was impure. Veins swelled with magic: Muscles bulged with new life. Realizing her mistake, Foxy wrenched the blade, trying to rip it from Ryan's grasp.

            Ryan let go. He kicked her in the gut, sending the woman falling back. A volley of lightning and darkness blasted Foxy into the wall, raising a brief cloud of stone dust. Alvin coughed black blood, hand clamped over his gaping wounds.

            "Holy bolts. Of all things, holy bolts."

            "I thought that you were almost invulnerable."

            "Of course not! I'm a profane abomination… positive energy hurts me. _Death _energy heals. That means that the happy, trippy stuff she's throwing is burning my ass off."

            _"Whatever._ Fix it. Now._"___

            Ryan kept a wary eye on Angel, who was getting up for what seemed like the thousandth time. Regeneration was a serious pain in the ass…She wasn't even winded! Great. Just great. 

            "Angel's getting up! What the hell is this, Terminator?" 

            "So's Foxy."

            Foxy stood from the wreckage, to the awed gasps of the audience. She shook her head, hair in total disarray. Somehow, her rapier had survived the impact, gleaming in her hand like a lambent flame.

            "That hurt, you bastards. It's time to die."

            Oh … shit.

            "Why don't we swap?"

            Ding! Idea!

            "Huh?"

            "I'll kill Foxy … you kill Angel. She doesn't seem like a spellcaster. Besides, how much worse can it get?"

            Alvin grunted his agreement. Macabre's short knife snapped into hand. The Stand's maniac form flowed over his skin, _fusing _with the very essence of the man. Alvin's wounds sealed shut, healed by the integration.

            "How much worse, eh?"

            "Good. Then let's go."

            Simultaneously, Ryan and Alvin ducked, rolled forward, spun around and promptly hurled their respective projectiles over the other's shoulder. An entropic blast tore into Angel, just as a Wave Cannon thudded solidly into Foxy's face. 

            Neither had any real effect. Angel's form blurred for a brief second, before reverting back. Visibly shaken, she flinched, trying to veer away from Alvin. He spun the knife in one hand, letting the other slip behind his back.

**_            "MASSACRE!!!"_**

            A small thicket of metal vines exploded from the ground all around, cutting off her retreat. Razor-sharp leaves bristled from the lashing tendrils, like living barbed wire.

            "And now," Alvin murmured, his eyes going black and hollow. "There is truly nowhere left to run." The void spilled from his eyes, obscuring the top half of his face. He began to laugh hollowly, a grim god of war enjoying the chaos and the carnage.

            "Bring it on."

* * *

            The eruption had caught Ryan totally off-guard, slicing a deep gash in his leg. He ducked away from the vines, heading for a clear patch safely past this terror. He didn't know what was going on in the center…He didn't particularly want to know, either. 

            It was hard going. Blades slashed his jacket, bloodied his clothes, and did their level beast to tear him apart. Evidently, they didn't distinguish friend from foe. Or, more likely, they simply didn't care. Ryan tried to teleport, failed, and began to Electronic Revolution his way out. Bleeding, face and hands lacerated, Ryan staggered from the deathtrap, binding his wounds with the shreds of his outfit.

            "Gukk … Alvin, you **_asshole_**. You're gonna pay for that."

            Right on cue, Foxy lurched out from the tangled mess, similarly disheveled. Oddly enough, HER outfit had remained totally pristine, despite the punishment she'd obviously received.

            Someday, Ryan was going to HAVE to learn that trick… right after this fight. If his survived. Then again, considering the sheer amounts of cuts he'd received, maybe some serious surgery would be a better idea.

            Energy crackled through the air—it was practically solid, and Ryan had to brace himself against the wall. Somewhere inside the barrier, Ryan saw Angel struggle to her feet, but she wasn't smiling anymore—

            No, unimportant. His mind tuned that out. He had his _own _problems.

            "Now it's just you and me."

            Ryan began to pace, taking careful, measured steps to the side. Overhead, lightning flashed and thunder boomed, a sign of the coming storm. Water droplets condensed from the cold air, swirling about Ryan in a complicated dance.

            "As it should be," Foxy agreed. She presented the blessed rapier, top cutting small circles in the air. Limping slightly, one hand crumpled at her side, Foxy still had just enough strength left to kill him. The regeneration implant was failing: Overtaxed, it flickered on and off, emitting a small beeping noise. Foxy wasn't going to be healing _these _wounds, not for a long time.

            A rumbling noise moved through the air, a harbringer of the storm to come. He could literally _taste _the electricity discharged and crackling in the atmosphere, feel the mad power in their cold orbit. 

            Foxy watched, pulse hammering in her throat. She looked towards the figure across the breach of empty space, as a few drops of water, warmed to the temperature of the blood in her veins, spattered against her face. She watched Ryan take a few step back, tensing.

            _He can't … Impossible. _Fragments of thoughts were all that her mind produced. _It's too far-_

Ryan stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it away. The droplets of water, created from the aura of moisture that always surrounded him, curved along the angles of his jaw and into his throat as he leaned forward, one hand reaching before him, as though untremored fingers could grab the air itself.

            Thoughts dissolved to wordless memory in Foxy's skull, as Ryan began to run. Another time, another place. In the city's depths, far above its darkly luminous streets; Another vault of empty space carved out by the rain. The past merged without seam into the present as she watched, own breath lodged fistlike in her throat, as the form, human yet not, sprinted along the concrete ribbon.

            Ryan charged, feet blurring. On both sides, floor tiles cracked and disintegrated, as the running adept broke the sound barrier. A last footfall, a hard shove off the crumbling ground, then Ryan launched himself into the air. One hand drew back for the coupe de grace: The other reached out like the nose of a plane.

            The past moment and the present, and none at all, time halting with Foxy's heartbeat. Sudden lightning lit up the heavy undersides of the storm clouds above, the blue-white illumination transforming Ryan into an angel of steel and diamond, held aloft from the dull earth's gravity by its own fierce, eternal falling.

            Foxy shook herself from the image's spell, standing tall and firm. She snapped the rapier up, first in a final salute, then held it ready to impale the flying warrior. 

            "SHADOWLESS HA-"

            There was a sudden burst of noise, first a _crunch_, then a splattering noise, as if someone had driven a skewer through a side of meat. Ryan's foot collided solidly with her windpipe. Cartilage crunched and bone cracked, followed by a wet liquid gurgle. Foxy went down, twitched once, and lay still.

            "Whoops. I … meant … _kick_."

            Slowly, painfully, Ryan reached down, feeling the sword plunged through his midsection. Like some outsized stinger, the blade quivered, every twitch causing a new, sickening wave of pain. His eyes played up and down the length of sharpened steel, trying to deny its very existence by the sheer weight of his disbelief. The weapon remained stubbornly real, an oversized knitting needle turned skewer,

            Ryan's hands closed on the hilt, sliding slightly on the polished metal surface. It felt cold to the touch, oddly so despite the blood dripping all over the blade. The Adept closed his eyes, ignoring the horrified gasps, shutting out the coming onslaught of nausea. Summoning up his internal strength, he swallowed –

            And tore the sword out.

            It was spectacularly messy. Blood fountained from his body in a red jet, followed by darker fragments of something else. As elegantly as he could, Ryan slumped against the wall, one hand clamped against the puncture wound. He slid down, leaving a dull red trail in his wake, before finally coming to rest in a sitting position.

            "Crap," Chan observed, clambering over the railings. Jiazheng caught him by the trench coat and hauled him back, receiving a glare for his efforts. 

            "The fight's not over yet. You CAN'T interfere."

            "**Sigh** You're right. Again."

* * *

            Alvin fought his foe to a bloody standstill, amid a storm of whirring steel. He fell back slowly, hemmed in by his own barrier.  Exhausted, burning spell after spell from his dwindling stock, he was getting nowhere.

            Fast.

            It wasn't that he couldn't hurt his opponent: Indeed, the sheer magnitude of the forces used had almost fried her to a grease spot, time after time. No, the problem was making the damage last.

            Angel seemed to have both regeneration and an uncanny resistance to magic of all sorts. Viruses had fizzled out, deathbolts had been ignored and acid had simply been shrugged off. Black gas had bubbled from each garish wound, gumming up holes and reknitting into flesh and bone. It was just like Yiming's unnatural tolerance, except far more immediate and effective.

            Angel darted in, angry and white, a lightning bolt unfolding towards Alvin. For his part, Alvin leapt in, intent on catching that lightning bolt and grounding it. 

            They clenched. Black and white battled for dominance, searing at the bodies of their avatars. On contact, decay spread across Angel's body, a rotting contagion of plague. Sterile welts arose on Alvin's face, eating away at his features.

            Where hands locked on arms, skin peeled back. Where eyes locked on eyes, the very air crackled with antipathy. Alvin broke away first, sundering the clinch he couldn't win. Angel gladly shoved him away, rolling past in a quick kickflip off his chest. 

            The Awakened recoiled in horror, flesh oozing away. His face twisted in agony, the first reaction Angel had gotten from him. 

            He was losing. And Angel knew it too.

            "You can't kill me." Unafraid, Angel stalked towards him, hammering away him with a crazed combo of punches and kicks. Alvin blocked the long strike chain, stoically accepting each blow. His flesh sloughed away under the onslaught, dissolving into the cold air.

            "No one can. As long as you tap into the power **_WE_** taught you, as long as use the Stand **_WE_** modified, it will be impossible to slay me."

            Silently, Alvin cursed himself. Of **_course_** they'd have found a way to insulate themselves from their own magic… only an idiot wouldn't have thought of that. His entire arsenal had just been neutralized –

            No. there was one thing left. Something they didn't – couldn't possibly know.

            "So I really can't kill you," Alvin stated, playing for time.

            "Exactly."

            "I can try, though."

            A sharp wire punched through Angel's forehead, tearing out the other side in a spray of gray matter and bone. With as much poise as possible, she dispelled it with a thought, shuddering from the sudden shock.

            Alvin dug into his shirt, producing a curious-looking compass-like ring, spiked on all sides. A single staring eye decorated the rich gold face, right at the center of a triangular plaque.

            A few years back, Alvin had purchased this on a field tri to Egypt. Well, not exactly PURCHASED it… okay, he had had it shoved right into his hands by a loser who'd only been too glad to get rid of it.

            Clutching the ring like a lifeline, Alvin held it out like a talisman. Blue light welled out from between his fingers, followed by a tangible thrumming as the metal began to vibrate.

            Angel was blasted into the wall, simply picked up and hurled by… Something. It kept her pinned there, stuck like an oversized moth to a flat, gray background. Alvin opened fire, hurling a hellstorm of magic at his erstwhile opponent.

            "Die," he whispered, and even the rubble melted, Alvin kept up his assault, pouring everything from himself, through the amulet and into the other figure. The ground disintegrated, then the air turned to white-hot heat – 

            The rapier hurtled through the air, tumbling like a flightless bird. It soared straight and true, metal ornaments serving as guiding vanes. 

            *****_thunk_****_***_**

            Silence. Alvin froze where he stood. The blinding, brilliant haze faded; The murderous intent in his eyes had be replaced by uncomprehending wonder. Red seeped through Alvin's clothes, spidering out through the concave ruin of his shattered chest, like a broken glass mirror. From a black hole, a finger of blood dripped down, travelling down his leg to touch the floor.

            Just behind him, Foxy stood. Her throat was a crushed, torn open by Ryan's spiked-soled boots. Air sucked in and out of an opened windpipe, turning her cultured voice watery.

            "No winners," she gurgled, watching the success of her hurled weapon.

            Alvin slumped to his knees. Very slowly, he turned his head to behold his killer, face now contorted in an expression of unutterable rage. The man's body began to fade away, as a wave of deletion rolled across his cursed form. It began at his exit wound, slowly but surely spreading. A cleansing contagion consumed Alvin, a counterpoint to the bubbling, _vital _plague his very touch spread.  

            "You win this round. But remember - "

            Great holes appeared in the fabric of his person, expanding at an inordinate rate. His own internal darkness began to consume him, the power feeding back on itself, like a serpent feeding on its own tail. Alvin's voice became hollowed out, echoing tones sounding as if from the bottom of a well. The man's face began to go; Half his mouth had been wiped clean, a badly-erased picture.

            "Thought I can be murdered, I can never, truly - "

            He was gone. The rapier clattered to the ground, followed an instant later by the amulet, lying on his side. The last fragments of his physical form withered and blew away on the breeze, dispersing as if they had never been.

* * *

Just Outside…

            Samuel saw everything. He could feel the distortion, the minute trembling of the fabric of reality as Alvin was destroyed. Fragments of magical energy swirled into the air, forming a miniature, invisible tornado of power. The world greedily sucked it back in, eager to reclaim at least a portion of Alvin's form.

            The moment was crystal clear to Samuel, painted like a picture in the spread of cards before him. Quietly, Alvin's card caught fire, immolating itself in a burst of spontaneous flame. 

            "Alvin's **_dead _**… The bastards killed him."

            Allison winced, feeling a slight twinge. Alvin had been-**_was _**a friend. No matter what he'd done, dying like that wasn't a good way to go. Samuel's voice held cold, detached fury as he shuffled his cards, fingers trembling from a combination of frostbite and hate.

            The situation didn't look very good, particularly on the surface: On one side, the Chariot, discarded to one side like a broken toy. On the other, the Fool and the Hermit … Oh, wait. _That _card just went blank.

            So it was down to Ryan and Foxy. 

            Samuel focused his will, reaching out with all his might to grasp the flow of events. Images streamed into his mind, all fragmented, possible futures dreamed up by ruined minds. The sky cracked, the earth heaved, the seas ran with blood, the dead walked-

            -There. That was the one, fluttering like a trap butterfly. Samuel caught it, trapping it in his metaphorical hand. The future was always in motion: If you didn't like what you saw, you simply let the world run something else.

            And where you look, things change. 

* * *

            Ryan was hurting. He felt the pain of his stab wound acutely, like a red-hot needle boring through the lining of his stomach. Distorted by the red fog of pain, the world swam in his eyes; He was dying, coming to pieces bit by bit.

            Above him, Foxy loomed, a crippled, guttered wreck. Every cell in his body rebelled at the sheer _wrongness _of it all: It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

             _It wasn't …_

            The thought hung in his mind, struggling like a fly trapped in honey.

            _… Supposed to happen…_

Synapses fired, the last-ditch effort of a dying mind. Several objects had spilled from Ryan's coat when he had fallen. A small, single-shot revolver began to roll across the floor, sliding of its own accord towards him. It was like that movie, except that it wasn't _his _Force making it go.

            The weapon slid into Ryan's hand, as though it had been made for him. Ryan had the briefest of moments to realize that he _didn't _carry a revolver, right before fingers closed on cool steel. His arm rose with deadly intent.

            Foxy was wilting freely as he took aim at her. She had the dazed, disorientated look of the walking dead, as if her throw had used up the little motive force still in her gutted form.

            Ryan pulled the trigger.

            There was a sharp crack of a noise-- a small red hole appeared neatly through Foxy's lungs, and she leaned backwards and flopped loosely to the floor. Ryan's arm 

dropped along with her. Her limbs jerked aimlessly a few times, and then nothing more.

            He still couldn't move. He didn't care.

            "Correct … no … Winners … " Ryan's voice came out as an agonized whisper. He struggled to remain conscious, pushing himself up from the ground, to his knees. The world went blurry, fading to strips of dull black and white…

            That was his last effort. Ryan sprawled forward, seeing nothing. Feeling only the slight warmth of the blood staining his hands, and the razor-edged stones pressing against his face.              

* * *

Up In The Stands…

            The announcer scratched his head, wondering how best to judge the scene that lay before him. He scanned the arena carefully, hoping against hope for some definite end to the conflict, praying that someone/anyone would stir, rendering his job far easier.

            No such luck.

            Beneath the box, the audience began to mumble, audibly discontent. What was point in watching a fight where everyone lost? There _had _to be a winner.

            Despite the chill of the day, the first few beads of sweat began dribbling down the side of the announcer's face. He decided to play for time, stalling till he thought of something.

            "Uh, well … LOOKS LIKE AN **_AMA-ZING_**END TO AN **_AMA-ZING_**MATCH, FOLKS! HOLD THOSE BETTING TICKETS…WINNERS WILL BE DETERMINED IN A MINUTE-"

            "So get on with, jerkwad!!"

            Okay, that was _not_ good. The crowd was getting angry. 

            "HOLD ON A MINUTE…TESTING, TESTING…"

**            "_HURRY UP, DAMNIT!!!"_**

            He cringed back from the outburst of wrath aimed his way, aware that his next words were only going to make it worst.

            "Ah, hell. DRAW!!! HEARD ME? A DRAW!!!"

            More angry roars. ANTICHRIST signs went up. The audience cheerfully lobbed rocks, food, knives and Molotov cocktails at the announcer's booth, smashing the plastic screens in several places.

            The announcer crawled under his desk, taking the microphone with him. Sometimes, it paid to be cautious. No point in remaining a target, was there?

            "AND NOW…" ***CRASH***

            "LET'S WELCOME THE NEXT FIGHTERS TO THE RING!!!" 

             Another chorus of resounding boos. Covering the mike, the announcer thumbed the communicator attached to his collar, linking directly to security.

            "Get them in. NOW."

* * *

            Jiazheng was shoved into the ring, forcibly extracted from his seat by two burly security guards. Ignoring his startled protests, the swordsman was launched face-first into the shattered battlefield by a friendly kick of encouragement, his swords tossed in right after him.

            With as much dignity as he could salvage, Jiazheng dusted himself off, scooping his katana from the ground. Sighing, he hefted its familiar weight in one hand, wondering what horror awaited him.

            Just overhead, Chan gave him the 'thumbs-up' hefting a camera over his shoulder.

            "Don't worry, Jiazheng," Chan noted almost cheerfully, flicking the device on. 

            "I'll record _every _moment on this…We'll be able to watch you get punched into oblivion again and again and-"

            "Shut up."

            From the other side, a cloaked figure drifted from the NESTS stands, taking brief, graceful flight into the air. The hooded cape billowed in the wind, exposing a fused wreck of metal and warped flesh where the figure's right arm should have been. Wires ran along that limb, pumping questionable fluids to keep it functional.

            Shrugging, Jiazheng leaned the katana on his shoulder, tapping the blade idly. Might as well get the fight over with…Nothing new so far, at least.        

            There was a tense moment, as both fighters simply stared at each other. The blank hood shifted slightly, tilting first up, then down. Jiazheng felt a discomfiting sensation as the thing's gaze traveled over him… The cloaked one radiated a tangible aura of malice, unnatural vibes that sent Jiazheng's mystical senses a-tingling.

            With a sudden movement, that warped arm came up, shoving the hood back in a smooth movement. A familiar head, bones and veins visible under deceptively delicate features, peered out. Streaks of white now adorned the black mop of hair, and crude stitches held the face together, like a repaired doll. Yet, despite the crude implants and surgical scars, it was unquestionably--   

            "Is that the new one?" Ogion's thin voice sounded distorted, as if he had trouble articulating the very words. His words were overlaid by the suck and drool of his fluid pipes, punctuating the sentence with a liquid exhalation. 

            Chan let a shocked gasp at his new appearance: He'd expected a foul, hunched thing. In fact, Ogion actually looked…Well, _better _than he had before. Healthier, at least, despite the various discreet stitches and tubes connected to his neck.

            There was a trace of a smile on Ogion's new face as he looked up, colorless eyes piercing through the crowd to stare right at Chan. He ignored Jiazheng completely, dismissing the swordsman as less than important.

            "Is that the new one?" Ogion repeated, an edge in his voice. A small muscle in his cheek twitched, as the tubes connected to his bloodstream began pumping something to keep him on the edge.

            Chan inclined his head, feeling shaken to his very core. If even _Ogion_had joined them, then there truly was no hope. 

            "No, I didn't join them." Ogion plucked the words from Chan's mind like letters from an open book. His right hand clenched and unclenched of it's own accord, sharp metal digits digging into his own flesh.

            _No one ever would, _he added psychically, planting the words in his former friend's mind. _They did something to me. There's someone else here, a sick mind that-_

            The transmission cut off with a brutal snap, like a television switched off in mid-sentence. Ogion's face warped, now all harsh lines and angles. He sneered at Jiazheng, pointing his normal arm in the warrior's direction.

            "_You."_The words were pronounced like a profanity, spat out like rancid filth. All swaggering confidence now, the not-Ogion threw back his cape, revealing both his scarred form, and the heavy machinegun strapped to his side. Jiazheng couldn't be sure, but the sky seemed to darken a _hell _lot when he did that.

            "Time to die, asshole. First you-"

            Another glance up. White-faced, Chan slumped back in his seat, going absolutely quiet. He didn't look down, seemingly not daring to meet the other's eyes.

            "Then the _other _fucker. Bring it on, retard."

            "Wait! He's Ogion, right? You showed me the pictures before!" Jiazheng directed his words at the stands, trying to elicit a response from their erstwhile leader. The world seemed to be spinning totally out of control: He wasn't sure what was going on anymore.

            "What's he **_doing_**-"

            "Your witless ally is gone…For now. He won't be coming back anytime soon." Cold, harsh white light glinted of Ogion's enamel, canines filed to razor-sharp points. Tendons creaked, as the psychic raised his hands.

            "_I _am K'9999. Or Prime, whichever you might prefer."  

             Now, there were two ways that this could be handled. The first way was to talk, and still be talking when K'9999 tossed Jiazheng's bullet-ridden body onto a smoking heap of rubble. 

            Chan chose the other way

            "KILL HIM!! **_NOW!!!_**"**__**

****Jiazheng charged, sword cutting blazing arcs through the air. K'9999 simply stood, transparent eyes rolling back in his head. Shuddering, he thrust one arm out in Jiazheng's direction, as if trying to physically _push _him back.

            Then, he screamed.

            Air warped; the ground cracked. A _huge _shockwave of dust, stones and debris hurtled towards the charging swordsman across the floor, gathering speed and momentum. Digging in his heels, Jiazheng skidded to a frantic stop, swinging the blade down…

            "CONCUSSION!!"

            *****THOOOOMMMMMM*****

            The ground detonated again, blasting even more holes in the sorely-abused concrete. The wave broke around Jiazheng, pelting him with small scraps of debris. Dusty but unharmed, he sneezed once, then promptly raised the katana again.

            "_My _turn."

            He feinted, rolled left, and dashed straight ahead, wood hissing fast enough to cleave atoms. K'9999 drifted back from the blow, leaving it to slash a small corner of his flapping cloak. The man made an idle gesture in Jiazheng's direction with his real hand, something like a limp-wristed push …

            *****WHAM*****

            He didn't even see it-- but whatever it was hit Jiazheng like someone had thrown a 

brick wall at him-- a brick wall studded with tasers. Jiazheng bounced off the wall and sprawled sideways on the shattered floor. 

            That did it. 

            Very calmly, Jiazheng got up, each movement deliberate and stylized.

            "Right. You asked for it, and now you're going to get it."

            With a vicious tug, he tore the odd gauntlet off his hand, tossing it casually to the floor beside him. The limb caught fire instantly, flaring up into an inferno of unhealthy-looking, nuclear-green fire.

            K'9999's face was a mask of bitter disappointment and hate. 

            "Damn you, asshole," he snarled. The psychic _knew _what was coming. He began to rummage through his defenses, trying to think of some kind of counter-

            Jiazheng let out an unholy scream and reeled back, a column of emerald flame blasting in all directions. Arms outstretched, body almost doubled over backwards, he lashed out with a BIG blast of flame all around him, sweeping the arena with cleansing destruction. The audience shied back, scrambling over one another in their haste to get away-

            Then the fire _stopped. _Jiazheng abruptly froze, hands still infernos. A spastic trembling began at his hands, slowly but surely working its way up to his head. K'9999 went perfectly still, odd eyes now taking on an opaque quality. No more games- It was time to burn out his opponent's mind before Jiazheng became a _real _threat.

            The psychic attack was simply devastating. _Most _people would've simply died or gone insane on the spot. However, an Awakened's mind was different enough for the matter to take some time…

* * *

Green light, streaked with storm-fires. A sound that mingled seismic rumbling and the eternal plainsong of long-decayed temples. A smell of woodsmoke, incense, saltwater, blood…

Another blink. Flares of red. Colliding galaxies, catching fire. Souls like comets, furrowing the abyss. Voices of god-monsters, calling from behind the flimsy backdrop of space.

Blink. Oceanic blackness.

Blink. Cold light, eons old.

Blink.

* * *

Suddenly, Jiazheng was no longer in the arena. The snow had stopped, and his small wounds had vanished. Darkness surrounded him, muffling all thought and noise.

Briefly, he wondered if he was dead. It _could _have happened: An explosion so instant and devastating that he'd never even felt it hit. With a kind of morbid fascination, Jiazheng ran through a catalogue of the ways he could've been dispatched. 

"_Where _the **_hell_** am I?"

His answer was a sheet of stabbing pain, one that seemed to flare out from his very mind. Staggering back, Jiazheng clutched his searing head, thoughts momentarily disrupted. Both hands came away bloody, crimson liquid dribbling from his nose, mouth and ears.

"Die," whispered a disembodied voice from behind. He turned, going for a sword that wasn't there. 

K'9999 was there. Or maybe he wasn't.

A column of blood exploded out from the ground like a geyser, half a kilometer wide and a dozen high. It rose like a gigantic tree, swirling with pustular flesh, sinew, muscle, ragged tissue, and a million staring eyes that coated it like glistening foam. Long, attenuated claws of jointed bone, like scythes with human teeth growing from the edges, lashed out, chopping at Jiazheng like some insane butcher.

He fumbled for a weapon, any damn weapon, backing away the best he could. Of all times, Jiazheng's stomach chose that time to growl …Great. He was about to die, and all he could think about was _food_!!

"This _really _sucks."

Just to make things worse, he was headed right for the…_Thing. _Actually, Jiazheng's legs were scrambling in the opposite direction as FAST as they could, though he was being pulled closer and closer like a spoon down the sink.

_That _was when he realized it wasn't-couldn't be- real. It was a belated, dim-witted epiphany … Not like the brilliant light shining down from heaven: More like the brown glimmer of a half-dead flashlight from the top of the flashlight. Of _course _this couldn't be real … It simply wasn't possible.

This isn't to say that he wasn't scared.

He was terrified. 

K'9999 could shape this place to suit his needs. Jiazheng didn't know what would happen if he died here, but his gut feeling told him it wasn't going to be pleasant. And hopefully, it worked both ways. Or least, it did in all those movies…

Jiazheng pressed both hands together, and concentrated like never before. With an effort of will, he shut out the noise, shut down each sense one by one. He forced himself to _feel _the sword he held in his hands, down to each and every chip in the battered hilt-

Then the weapon was in his hands. It was at least five feet long and pure silver, a rapidly-shifting shaft of quicksilver, more like a lance than anything else. Jiazheng hefted the comforting weight, getting a feel for it.

The screaming monstrosity racing towards him began to shift shape. It wasn't a construct, it was K'9999 himself in disguise, sheer terror painted upon his face. The bastard _knew._

Too late for him, though.

Jiazheng shifted his grip and charged, footsteps thundering across the landscape. He leapt, bringing the sword overhead-

K'9999 tried to veer aside. He'd exerted too much power, though, and couldn't arrest his flight.

-And slashed. The heaven-to-earth cut struck K'9999 on the crown of his head, slicing down to cleave through his body. 

An explosion of blood engulfed Jiazheng's senses, and he was suddenly back in the arena, moving in midstride. Just in front, K'9999 eyes glazed over in shock, chest mangled. He no idea whether a _real_ sword could've harmed him- K'9999 would likely have laughed it off- but this wound was different. Even the psychic couldn't argue with what his mind told him. 

"Go to hell," Jiazheng said. He drove forward, ramming the wooden blade through his opponent's stomach. It hit K'9999 with such cold force that the tall man's back arched, arms flung away from him.

"Read my mind now, dirtbag." He struck Ogion's/K'9999's belly, crosswise. Eyes bulging with surprise, he buckled forward, arms reflexively trying to seal the gaping wound.

"No … " Blood poured from K'9999's mouth.

Jiazheng dashed past him in a blur of motion, slamming the bloody blade back into the sheath. Just behind him, K'9999 gushed more blood and toppled, a puppet with strings cut. His metal arm thumped to the floor beside him, cleanly removed. 

_Thank you._

* * *

Outside…

            "Heh. Never knew he had it in him."

            Samuel shook his head, surprise and disbelief warring on his face. The Death card simply ceased to exist, ashes blowing away on the chill wind. 

            "Did something happen?"

            "Yeah. Jiazheng _won_."

            "He did? Well, looks like you learn something new every day."

* * *

**            "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN … WE HAVE A _WINNER!!!"_**

            Cheers from those who bet on the underdog, boos from half the crowd as they threw losing tickets to the winds.

            "**NEXT UP … THE _FINAL _MATCH. PRESENTING…_KULA DIAMOND!!!"___**

****Chan leaned over the railings, making frantic 'get away' signs.

            "Jiazheng! Get _out _of there, man! You can't beat her- I'm not even sure _I _can!"

            Jiazheng shook his head, flicking Ogion's blood from his sword. Battered and bruised, he looked weak and nauseous from the psychic mauling, yet still ready on his feet. The swordsman wiped the blade with a scrap of clothing, tossing the cloth to the floor.

            "No."

            "What?"

            "I told you before: I _never _walk away from any fight."

            That was true, at least. Jiazheng usually had to be _carried _away from most fights, feet-first. But still…

            "Look, that isn't heroic. It's suicide. Don't try to be cool-"

            _A moment in time.___

_            The finals, one year ago. Andro, painted in his own blood, blades dangling loosely from limp hands. Ogion, standing tall and proud at the mouth of the tunnel, watching as certain death approached on black boots._

_            "Don't try to be cool alone, Ogion! There's no way you can survive, and you know it. This isn't a movie, damnit!"_

_            Labored breathing from Ryan's dying form, barely supported by the other two boys._

_"No. It is not. But it is true that I'm still rather healthy, and have the highest chance of survival. Besides … " _

_            A faint smile spread across Ogion's face._

_            " … I'm always cool."_

            Chan tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He understood, all too well.

            "Alright. Go get 'em!"

            Jiazheng gave him the thumbs-up, nodding. Just ahead, snow began to swirl into the arena, a chill breeze of driving sleet and snow that momentarily obscured all vision. The audience watched religiously, wondering exactly _what _was coming.

            Two forms materialized from the depths of the sudden blizzard, warping in behind the cover of the snow. Diana supported her 'little sister', who seemed to be floating in a drug-induced haze. Kula was none too steady on her feet, swaying slightly back and forth. Diana kept Kula upright with a firm grip n her arm, whispering last-minute instructions into the girl's ears.

            Jiazheng caught a " … Just do as what you did _last _time," before the brief conversation came to an end. Diana looked at him, shaking her head regretfully. Then, she teleported, vanishing in a vaguely butterfly-shaped shadow.

            The start bell tolled mournfully, signaling the start of the round.

            With a flourish, Jiazheng crossed his blades, assuming a ready stance. For her part, Kula stood still, one foot slightly ahead of the other. Her eyes were fixed on the ground: Her hands lay open and empty at her sides.

            Jiazheng came in at a run, arrowing towards his opponent. He raised the katana overhead, intending to chop right through the blue jacket that draped Kula's purple bodysuit. 

            Still Kula stood, no weapons drawn, no spells forming. She didn't even seem to see Jiazheng's charge, didn't watch him leap, spin, cut-

            ***_clang***_

            Wood connected solidly with a thin, clear plane of frost. Jiazheng stumbled back, sword from the force of the blow. So _that _was why she hadn't dodged…She didn't _need _to. 

            Then Kula _moved_.

            Jiazheng got one fleeting glimpse of her, mouth curled in a feral grin, twin blades of ice slicing the air. One headed for his jugular, the other his-

            *****_shinnngg_****_-CLANG***_**

            Wakizashi and katana blocked, whirling in a tight arc. Ice came to a dead stop, held back by all the strength in Jiazheng's arms.

            Time seem to stand still for a heartbeat. The two faced each other, blades locked. Kula had been a speed-distorted phantom till she'd stuck: Now, she stood frozen, glaring through the crossed blades at him. In sharp contrast to her face, Kula's eyes were black, as if something of the night had leaked into them. There was no expression, none whatsoever, as if she was merely a detached spectator.

            Ever seen a real swordfight before? No, it's not like swashbuckling, with witty repartee traded with each clash. And no, it's not like the slow-mo flying so often seen in movies. 

            Instead, imagine windmills. Windmills with sharp edges. Everything goes to hell in the first minute, when people realize that the point is to cut the other person _very_ badly, not to look impressive.

            Jiazheng waded in, punching out with his sword's hilt. The hard pommel cracked against Kula's skull, ornate gold foil chipping off at the impact. He followed up, a powerful lunging kick that punted his opponent away. She flew forward and slammed against the far wall, dropping to the ground with a loud _crack_.

            Okay, he was on top of the situation! Just had to get a knife out and  ...

            Kula rolled with the blow, turned her uncontrolled tumble into a slight skid. She flowed to her feet, seemingly completely unfazed.

            A thin trickle of blood dribbled down the side of the girl's forehead, dying her white hair red. Kula looked Jiazheng directly in the eye, smiled, and wiped the blood away. Never blinking, she licked her hand clean.

            Oh … Shit.

            She was one of the nasty ones. No distorted sense of justice here. No hippy-dippy-trippy ideals of love and compassion. This girl _liked_ the part where she got to hurt things. No wonder Chan had been so edgy ...

            "Looks like I've been too _nice _to you so far." Ever word was filled with a sick intensity, alternating rapidly between cuteness and evil. 

            "But now … I bid you _adieu_. **DIAMOND EDGE!!!"******

            Huge spikes of ice tore from the floor, like some massive frozen plant. Light glinting along jagged edges, they rippled towards Jiazheng in a titanic wave, all sharp edges and cold.

            Jiazheng spun both swords in tight, whirring arcs, praying that this would work. Time slowed, the advancing ice seeming to slow down to an agonizing crawl. Jiazheng flurried his arms faster and faster, never more desperate to summon the power within. The light dimmed, as he went into a flurry of hacking, slashing blades, arms blurred into silver and black flashes.

            "**_MUSASHI NO SHUUGEKI!!!!"_****__**

            He hurtled forward, legs pumping. A gray fog shimmered just ahead of the swordsman, all that could be seen of his assault. Jiazheng smashed into the ice head-first, swords blazing-

            -And kept going. There was a sensation of extreme cold, followed by sharp, searing pain. Shrapnel peppered Jiazheng, flaying exposed skin. One slashed a jagged line down his cheek, another fiery burst of agony.

            Still slashing, Jiazheng didn't stop. There was a brief scream as he slammed into Kula, a blending machine gone berserk. He couldn't see, couldn't hear-

            The kick crashed into the back of his head, jarring him unmercifully. Screeching with hate, Jiazheng tried to whir around, slicing behind him with the wakizashi. Impossibly, he struck only empty air, even as Kula's return stroke tore into him again.

            Jiazheng went down this time, as a hammerblow blasted into the small of his back. Lacerated with hundreds of small cuts, Kula clamped a hand over her bleeding face, clutching Jiazheng's head in a deathgrip with the other.

            There was no quarter asked, and none given. The girl smashed the dazed swordsman's head into the floor, face-first. When he twitched, she did it again, kicking him solidly in the ribs for good measure. There was a solid _pop_ that told of something breaking, followed by a brief groan from her opponent. Crimson smeared across the surface of the hard concrete, Jiazheng's nose and teeth shattering from the first impact.

            Kula reached down, snaring Jiazheng's neck in a grip like iron. With unnatural strength, she hauled the feebly struggling swordsman up to eye level, ignoring his frankly pathetic attempts to break away.

            At a mere thought, she willed talons of ice into existence, digging slowly into Jiazheng's skull. His remaining defenses gave a last splutter, flickering out in a brief shower of emerald sparks. The claws drew blood, sending thin streamers dribbling down his face

            "It's no fun playing with you now," Kula sulked, pouting like an evil schoolgirl. Her starry eyes lit with a manic gleam as she glanced at the stands, watched Chan get to his feet. Jiazheng quit moving as sharp ice pierced his braincase, passing out from a combination of pain, stress and blood loss.

            "Come down NOW, Chan. I can think of so many, many games we can play tog-"

            The ground detonated just in from of her, shockwaves spreading from the epicenter in concentric rings. Smiling, Kula simply stood, ignoring the shrieks of the panicked audience. One hand still held Jiazheng: the other maintained the ice shield around her.

            Chan strode from the midst of the newly formed crater, face grim. Both hands clasped the mage cannon; he sighted down the long barrel. The glowing circle at his feet followed Chan as he moved, arcane symbols distorting the air around him.

            "Drop him. Or I'll drop you"

            Once again, Chan marveled at the sick coincides of the world: only a deliberately malicious mind could have written the script that had led his team inexorably to this moment. 

            Somehow, a combination of luck, design and vagaries of fate, both sides had survived more than their fair share of disasters, simply to slaughter one another on this very day.

            In that frozen moment, Chan's eyes caught sign of the digital display barely visible through the huge glass dome that capped the stadium.

**11:59****:59**. One second before midnight, and the start of a new day.

**12:00****:00**. The clock struck, triggering an old-fashion bell.

            The ponderous monument sounded, sending a sonorous wave of booming noise sweeping across the city. The lights in every building flared, bathing everyone in a soft, angelic glow.

* * *

            In a concert hall, just across the road, all was bright and warm. Happy, slightly inebriated people weaved their merry way to their seats, waiting for the performance to begin. 

            A golden speaker crackled to life, a cheerful voice broadcasting a _very_ special message to the audience. The communication network patched it into _every_ working monitor and speaker in the city, turning more than a few heads.

            **"And now...This song is for _all_ you couples out there. Presenting a live performance of 'Kiseki No Kane' (Miracle Bells) ... Sung by the one and only Hanagumi!!!"**

A brief pause, synthesized voice drowned out by a thunderous roar of approval.

**"T.K. broadcasting would like to wish you all an early, very merry Christmas, and a happy new year!!!"**

            Artificial snowflakes spiraled down on the assorted dancers and singers. White light beamed across the stage in gentle, sweeping waves, like a blessing from the essence of winter itself. Cheers rose from the audience, almost as loud as the cries for carnage just across the street

 **     "Music!"**

            The band swung into the pop hit "Kiseki no Kane", a heartwarming, sappy Christmas tune that brought a tear to more than one eye. The androgynous lead singer hummed along to catch the beat, then promptly joined in.

_ Dare mo inai kousaten ni tatsu   
Anata to watashi no aida ni konayuki ga mau   
Negaigoto ga hitotsu dake aru no   
Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi dakara sukoshi yume o kudasa _

(_We stand at the empty crossroads   
Between you and I, fine snowflakes dance   
I have a wish, this one wish only:   
"Today is a special day, so will you grant me my dreams, but a little?")_

* * *

            Back in the stadium, Chan flinched. Just a momentary, involuntary shudder. It wouldn't have meant anything, except that Kula saw it too. 

            "Drop him? Why not?"

            Kula looked at Jiazheng, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. With a shrug, she flung him though the Plexiglas shielding of the announcer booth, sending a hail of glass fragments raining down on the spectators.

            The music played on.

_Dare mo inai machikado o yuku   
Anata wa watashi no te o tori nani mo iwanai   
Negaigoto wa atatakai kotoba   
Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi dakara kitto kiseki ga okoru_

_(We walk the empty street corner   
Wordlessly, you take my hands in yours   
My wishes are for heartwarming words:   
"Today is a special day, so surely miracles will happen!")_

            This was the part where hero and villain were supposed to trade insults, threatening another with punishment both cruel and imaginative. No such sentimental rubbish here…Both sides were seething with the urge to _kill, _to shatter the opponent beyond all hope of repair. 

            Yet the moment of peace dragged on.

            Kula turned her head to one side, soaking in the lyrics. Still frozen, Chan held his pose, his hands trembling ever-so-slightly. For the first time in his life, he didn't have the willpower to pull the trigger…He couldn't even quell the shakes. 

_Dare mo ga honno sukoshi dare ka o omou toki   
Kiseki no kane ga naru no darou   
Dare mo ga honno sukoshi dare ka o omou toki   
Ai no tomoshibi tomoru darou_

_(If only a little, there're times we think of someone else   
Are not the bells of miracles a-chiming?   
If only a little, there're times we think of someone else   
Is not the light of love enkindled?)_

"That could've been us, you know." Kula spoke the words softly, almost to herself. She paid absolutely no attention to the live WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction) aimed her way.

            Silence. The audience held its collective breath, watching the strange spectacle. Some checked watches, wondering _exactly _how long this was going to take before the violence started.

            **_"The hell're you waiting for? SHOOT!!! SHOOT, YOU ASSHOLE!!!"_**

****The loudmouth's voice cut through the expectant hush, like a hot knife through butter. The entire sentence was distorted, warped both by distance and the application alcohol. 

            The sheer _meaning _reached Chan, though.

It jarred him into the here and now, to force him to **act, **not merely to think**. **The trembling stopped, bludgeoned into stillness by an iron will. Chan spoke the three words on his mind, the only words left to be said.

            "We'll never know."

            He opened fire.

* * *

            Just outside, Diana began the long walk around the stadium, searching for the stairway to the huge glass roof. Though she didn't like it, her orders were clear: The DHS Team was _not _to proceed further, at any cost.

            There was a .50 caliber sniper rifle on the dome, already loaded with a special kind of ammunition, created from the remains of Chan's Mage Cannon shells. One bullet from something _that _heavy would put paid to anyone or anything, Awakened or not. Distance wasn't even a factor…It would be easy to annihilate Chan from her sniper's position.

            Personally, Diana was glad to see the end of this sordid business. It was becoming a major pain, with way too much risk, for way too little gain. Not to mention the unpredictable working hours, AND the questionable sanity of the guy at the top. She'd heard he spent most of his days gibbering now …  Supposedly, Ignis sometimes even demanded _worship. _How screwed up was that?

            Giving herself a sharp mental slap, Diana shook her gloomy thoughts away. Introspection usually didn't tend to be one of her strong points… Perhaps today was just a particularly bad day. 

            She turned the corner absently, still slightly distracted. It took her a moment to realize the writhing coiling shadows barely visible at the edge of her vision, seemingly obscuring the entire world. The cold night was alive with sibilant voices, with barely audible hisses and murmurs speaking of dreadful, forbidden things…

            ***_Click***_

            A small point of sudden light. The shroud retreated, like an obscuring curtain pulled away from a window. The back of a rusting McDonald's franchulate drew Diana's eyes, the stadium barely visible at this distance. Music still drifted to her, still barely audible.

_Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi Ai ga afure sou na hi   
Kitto watashi ni kiseki ga okorimasu   
Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi Ai no kane ga naru hi   
Anata to futari no love story_

_(For today is a special day - A day that seems to overflow with love   
Surely, a miracle will take place for me   
Today is a special day - A day the bells of love are chiming   
The day of a love story, with you)_

            Blink. Wait…She'd been heading the wrong way. But how'd she get so far?

            Again that rhythmic clicking noise, followed by the same on-and-off flickering. Just barely visible, a bench loomed out from the shadow of the franchulate, the darkness seemingly sliding right off the surface.

            Allison sat on that small island in an ocean of black, absorbed completely in the contemplation of her lighter's flame. The gold skull grinned hollowly at Diana, a mocking smirk in its carved eyes.

            "We've been waiting for you."

            Her voice was chill and smooth, yet as empty as the infinite darkness of space. Allison's features seemed oddly pallid and lifeless, yet somehow lit sinisterly from within.

            Know all those people who say hell is warm?

            They lie.

_la la la la la la la la la   
la la la la la la la la la   
  
Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi Ai ga afure sou na hi   
Kitto watashi ni kiseki ga okorimasu   
Kyou wa tokubetsu na hi Ai no kane ga naru hi   
Anata to futari no love story_

_(For today is a special day - A day that seems to overflow with love   
Surely, a miracle will take place for me   
Today is a special day - A day the bells of love are chiming   
The day of a love story, with you)_

Applause.

(Well, that was one marathon chapter. Sorry to take so long, folks…Things have been hectic, ever since school opened. I'll be updating soon enough, so keep watching!!! Kudos to you if you happen to know where that song comes from…It's obscure enough…)

(This is the third time this chapter has been posted,)


	14. Deathmatch, Part II

**Chapter 14: Deathmatch, Part II**

            The skies above Tokyo lit up with lightning, jagging bolts of eldritch light flickering back and forth through the clouds. It was a freak storm the likes of which the world had never seen: Snow rained down with almost vicious sentience, cold winds lashing all those stupid enough to be outdoors. Most people were smart enough to take the hint, staying safe and warm in their nice, insulated flats.

            Lightning flared, shaking the entire fabric of the patchwork city. Energy sleeted across buildings, racing along telephone wires, rendering all line-bound communication impossible. The cables acted like huge antenna, gathering up a howling cancophy that ground on the nerves, eroding morale and reason. 

            It was as if _all_ the dead had gathered in an unholy chorus, screeching voices cursing the world for their eternal suffering…

            It was a pity, really. 

            They were all missing a damn good show. 

*************

Inside The Stadium …

            Things were going _completely _to hell.                

            Chan realized exactly how screwed he was, the moment he started shooting. The Mage Cannon made its distinctive noise, disgorging blast after blast of black annihilation. He didn't even bother to aim: It was impossible to miss at this range.

            Or so he thought.

            *****_KA-BLAM***_**

****One bullet. Kula skipped aside, twirled away from the whistling projectile.

            *****_BLAM***_**

            Two bullets. A crappy shot this time, poorly aimed. It went wide, detonating on the concrete and consuming a large portion of ruined floor.

            *****_BLAMBLAMBLAM***_**

****Three more rounds, fired in frantic succession. Chan felt the cold chill of fear grip his heart with an iron fist, watching in absolute horror as Kula simply tipped her head, paying completely no attention to the burst whistling right past her skull. 

            "Oh, shit."

            Only one bullet left. Kula charged in a sudden rush, legs snapping like the blades pf shears. Ghost images trailed in her wake, a blurry line of speed-created phantoms. Swearing, Chan aimed for her head, trying desperately to ignore the thoughts of his sudden and imminent death …

            *** **_click***_**

            Empty? But he'd put _six _bullets in the gun!

            Chan dove aside, trenchcoat billowing right behind him. Shrieking, Kula raked out snatching at his shoulder. She caught cloth instead, the material thankfully ripping and tearing under her claws. 

            The mage whirled, a hooking kick. The solid blow whacked Kula's spine, air rushing from lungs and blood from burst vessels. She crashed down in the dust, face and hands caked with powdered concrete. Kula scrambled up, spinning to face Chan again.

            "**_Now_** you've done it. You've made me angry."

            "Feet don't fail me now!!"

            And Chan was off. He was already several meters away, and still retreating, feet pumping for every bit of speed he could get. Something was terribly, terribly wrong: Chan's magic literally drained through his fingers, siphoned off by some unseen source. No _way _was he fighting till he got it fixed.

            It occurred to Chan that he wasn't under the effect of any of his usual spells; The same parasite had sucked away almost every defensive enchantment. Unfortunately, the realization coincided with Kula's fist meeting his head. A miniature constellation exploded in his head, multi-colored fireworks flaring behind his eyes.

            Dazed and reeling, Chan fell back. By sheer dumb luck, Kula's first swipe whistled right past him, nasty ice blades bisecting even more cloth. He got the Mage Cannon up in time, spinning the barrel up to-

            *****_shiinnngg-iiinnngg_****_***_**

            -Parry.             

            Ice bit into metal. There was a shrill grinding noise, followed by an angry hissing of sparks from the handgun. The enchanted weapon held firm, steel solid and unyielding beneath the two-handed blow.

            Chan blocked the decapitating blow with one hand, his handgun intercepting the strike right on the barrel. For a long, frozen second, he stood there like an idiot, wondering **_how the hell_**he'd managed that. Kula promptly kicked him in the side, slicing away with _another _blade in an attempt to reap his head from his shoulders. 

            *****_clang_*****

            Impossibly, he parried again. And the next. And the next. It was as if someone else was manipulating Chan, turning his usually clumsy strikes and dodges into the smooth, gliding motions of a master. He even managed to counterattack, sweeping his trenchcoat forward as a visual shield. Completely weirded out, Kula hopped back, wondering where he'd learned his new tricks from.

            Unnoticed by everyone, the Emperor card in Chan's pouch began to glow, the image writhing and warping in some silent, hideous agony. 

*************

Outside …

            The park was still dark, a sphere of swirling darkness enveloping the entire area from the outside. It was completely impossible to see anyone inside: Likewise, it was impossible for those inside to look out.

            Perfect for a quiet murder. 

            Keeping a careful eye on Allison, Diana took a step back, loosening the rapier at her side. She wasn't carrying much firepower: She hadn't even expected to get in a fight. Silently, Diana cursed herself, thinking longingly of the various nasty devices she'd left at the headquarters.

            Allison stood up, keeping up that irritating clicking noise. Her hands remained in contact with the gold lighter at all times, the only thing that caught the light on her person. The field of illumination followed her, the hungry Oblivion re-enveloping her seat.

            "I suppose you'll want to tell me what's going on before you kill me … Right?"

            "It's simple, if you think about it. You killed one of us … And you know what that demands, don't you. Simple. Biblical, even."

            Diana's rapier hissed through the air. Allison caught the blade neatly, between index and middle fingers. Diana tugged, hard, trying to saw off her fingers. There was utterly no response: She might as well have tried to hack through solid stone.

            "Don't do that," Allison snapped. "I **_hate _**it when people do that."

            With a shrug, Diana retrieved her weapon. "Can't blame me for trying, can you? Besides, no real harm done. So…At the risk of sounded clichéd, who- Nah, scratch that. **_What _**are you?"

            A thin wisp of smoke hissed from between burnt fingers, seared from the brief contact with the consecrated metal. Allison let her hand drop, thrusting the burnt appendage in a fold of her cloak. 

            "Think I'm about to tell you? Don't insult my intelligence."

            "Ah. Thought not."

            Diana tried again, faster this time. The point tore through Allison's sleeve, right before she twisted away, almost taking Diana's head off with a spinning backfist.

            "Damn," Diana hissed. Great…Just great. 

            "You're incredibly annoying, you know."

            Allison shifted, adjusting her simultaneously form-hugging/billowing black cloak. The darkness began to dissolve, an oddly pleasant-smelling purple fog filling the air. There was a brief, abrupt of disorientation-

            -And all too suddenly, they were somewhere else. It was an empty, blasted landscape; Tombstones littered the black sand like jagged teeth, the same haze enveloping everything. The air felt thick and humid, like the burden of a murderer's guilt.

            "Illusions, now? I've seen better."

            "Just wait." The ghost of a smile flitted across Allison's face, as if at some amusing private joke. "It gets better. Or worse. For you, that is/"

            Misshapen forms wandered across the barren ground, dragging the twisted shapes along. Hands thrust from graves: Rotted zombies, revenants and wraiths, _all _clad in full medieval regalia, clawed their way back to the surface.

            "H-uh…I've seen…I've seen zombies too." There was a tremor in Diana's voice, which hadn't been there before. Vainly, she fought for calm, feeling like the universe was spinning out of control. This couldn't be real…Right? No one could do something like this, not on such a scale!!

            And yet…

            "But not so **_many _**at once. And _definitely_ not all of them, just waiting for you." 

            Not far away, a headless suit of armor glided closer, feet not quite touching the ground. Antique sword remained absurdly sharp, despite the wriggling worms crawling up and down the formerly bright blade.

            Diana swallowed hard, trying not to look at the maggots that adorned the breastplate. She _definitely _tried not to notice the cackling, sword-brandishing pair of hands somewhere to the side, two bloodshot eyes rolling insane.

            "All right, you've convinced me. Now what?"

            "For you? **_Death. _**I thought I made that clear from the very beginning, didn't I?"

            A small orb of gold fire hurtled towards Allison, spattering harmlessly off an invisible wall inches from her nose. Completely unflustered, Allison snapped her lighter shut with a decisive _clink, _extinguishing the small, guttering flame. 

            "Nice," she remarked, completely unperturbed. Her black robes whispered around her, as Allison began to fade. "You might want to save it for them, of course."

            Slowly, unwillingly, Diana turned to look at the army of assorted undead just a half-kilometer. Some crawled. Others lurched. The rest flew.

            All carried 'not-strictly-speaking-weapons'. _That _was what began to disturb Diana: You always **_knew _**where you were with normal weapons. It was the cleavers tied to femurs AND the embalming hooks that scared the hell out of her. 

            The makeshift horde covered the distance at an appallingly fast rate…God, where'd they get so **_many?!_**Behind her, Allison began to fade, material form sucked back into the shadows.

            "Wait! You-"

            Then suddenly, unaccountably, the swarm was upon her. 

            ****

*************

Back In The Arena…

            It occurred to Chan that he wasn't under the effect of any of his usual spells; he hadn't had the time to cast them. Unfortunately, that realization coincided with Kula's fist taking him in the solar plexus. The blurringly fast series of fifteen punches that followed didn't help either, pounding his head and chest like a drum.

            Some of the audience cheered as Chan went down. They were bored of his constant, conventional defense … Where was the magic they'd heard so much about?

            Bruised and winded, Chan crashed and slid to a bone-jarring stop. The entire barrage had felt like a single, solid sledgehammer blow, shattering several ribs. He rolled to his side and winced, feeling the acute pain jabbing into his torso. His entire chest felt as if it was on fire, red-hot pokers digging into his flesh

            "Requiem," Chan gasped in reflex, trying to summon the nonexistent Stand. Obviously, nothing happened. The fiery pain in Chan's side spread, an inferno eating him from inside up. With a superhuman effort, he hauled himself up on one elbow, trying to find the strength to stand.

            "This is friggin' pathetic… "

            Kula smiled, a hideous, twisted smirk that filled her whole face. 

            "Aww…_Poor_ Chan-kun. No Requiem? You've treated him **_so _**badly … "

            Chan reached out and touched her.  Specifically, his knuckles touched her nose, at 180 miles an hour. Watching that smirk dissolve was _extremely_ satisfying, as was the feel of his knuckles shattering her nose. He hesitated just before the follow-up, though: twisted as it was at the moment, it was still Kula's face...

            So he changed his attack.

            "That's an 'it', not a 'him'," Chan snarled. He jabbed a finger in Kula's direction, snapped out the words of a spell. A brilliant blue spark hurtled forward, buzzing with an infernal cobalt light. It struck a phalanx shield and detonated, blasting Kula back in a torrent of ravening electric discharge.

           Retching, the mage coughed weakly, nearly dead on his feet. Snapping the Mage Cannon loose, he started reloading, dropping loose bullets in his haste. Not much time before-

            -A rounded weight of ice smashed his jaw. Fireworks of agony exploded in Chan's head, his teeth shattering like glass. Somehow, he remained upright, tottering back in a haze of pain.

            "Guess you'll have to learn to fight without teeth too, won't you?"

            Kula's voice was shrill and high-pitched. Her hair stood up in odd clumps, shocked upright by the jolt. Chan sneered and spat blood, shoving the Mage Cannon her way.

            *****_RAAARK_**_pop**SWOOSH**thud**CRUMP**_**_***_**

            *****_RAAARK_**_pop**SWOOSH**thud**CRUMP**_**_***_**

            *****_RAAARK_**_pop**SWOOSH**thud**CRUMP**_**_***_**

            Explosive bolts roared. Like the rowdy growl of some monster, or the noise of hellhounds erupting from the earth, the weapon thundered out a long, vicious burst, furious recoil punishing Chan's hands. Wild blasts erupted, tearing up even more of the cement floor. The limestone foundations were now clearly visible, in what used to be the proud centre of the ring.

            The Mage Cannon fell silent, empty. More debris clouds billowed up, now completely obscuring everything from sight. No matter: There was still plenty more where that came from. Chan dropped the gun, snatching the matte-black autopistol from under his coat. 

            He couldn't see what he was shooting at. Kula had vanished somewhere into the shrapnel cloud, clipped dead-on by a well-aimed bolt. Viciously, Chan wished her dead, dead and rotting in hell. In the off chance that she **_wasn't _**…

            Fifty more rounds tore blindly into any possible target, sweeping the arena in a short-lived hail of gunfire. The stuttering cough of the autogun drowned out all other noise, muzzle flash lighting up Chan's face in staccato bursts of light.

            *****DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA_thunkthunkclangthunk_****_***_**

*********THOOOOOMMMM*****

Okay, so he aimed the wrong way. Perfectly understandable. Spectators fled as bullets punched into the stands, a sizzling series of buzzing shots. Tile chips exploded in a haze of dust, gobbets of wood spraying up from the front row seats.

            The alarms were ringing, now. The spinning barrels of the autogun clattered to a stop, finally empty. Smoke hissed from the weapon, tell-tale red lights flashing on and off. Tensely, Chan waited. 

            Had it been enough? Blue light shone from his fingers, as Chan healed himself to the best of his ability. There were several sickening _crunches _as bone and flesh reknitted, followed by no small amount of pain … **_Not_** being a Stand-wielder sucked. 

            Then Kula ploughed back out through the smoke. Blood dribbled down her face from her nose, and that insane grin was back …

            "You _always _were such fun to play with, Chan," she cooed. A solid cannonball of ice promptly flew at him. No time to retreat, no chance to shield … Chan dodged, just barely. He yanked his trenchcoat close, flung up his shield and-

            -Flew. Shockwave tugging at his coat, he tumbled head-over-heels, ice fragments whistling all around. A deafening roar shook the building, blasting out **_almost_** everywindow. Ice poured all around him, carrying him right along, a miniature avalanche tumbling from the ceiling. Chan heard _things _thump into the walls, nasty noises like splattered jelly.

            Something flashed through the air. Thankfully, it glanced off his shield and bounced away, shattering on some other surface. Ice javelins? Things just got better and better, didn't they?

            "Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap-"

            Chan reached down, grabbed for the Mage Cannon. His hand came up empty, right before he remembered he'd dropped it to grab the autopistol. _Time to think fast, _his terrified mind gibbered, barely coherent. _Any minute now, Kula's gonna come a-knockin'. _

            "Just gotta come up with a plan of action and everything'll be cool. That's right, just keep a level head and ... **_Holy shit_**."

            Kula stood just ahead, looking none the worse for wear. 

            In her hand, she held the Mage Cannon.

            "Guess what I found?" The weapon literally gleamed with lethal light, filled with the bullets Chan had dropped whilst reloading. How'd this happen to him? The girl tapped the barrel of the gun against her chin, spinning it around her hand to aim.

            "Wait!"

            Sometimes he disgusted even _himself._

_            *****RAAARKKK-**_****

            The pentagram of protection flickered to life, a scintillating circle of force. Of course, what Kula _didn't-**couldn't**_ know was that shooting at Chan with his own weapon was the worse idea since New Coke. In her hands, it simply fired shards of cheap crystal filling that couldn't have shredded paper.

           With mild interest, Chan watched as each uncharged round spanged off the complicated tracery of runes. He grinned, watching as the last fragments clattered to the ground.

            "Not quite, Kula."

            "_This_ time," she promised, tossing the useless gun aside. 

            "CLAW BYTES!"

            "FLINTLOCK DRAGON!"

            They met in midair, in a classic super-uppercut clash. An ice-spike slashed a long gash along Chan's side, cutting more cloth than flesh. In turn, Chan's own blow flew completely wide, scorching only Kula's hair as she drifted past.

            Ever more agile, Kula landed first, another impossibly smooth glide. By contrast, Chan got the landing part right, left hand braced for balance…

            …His arm promptly buckled, and he went facefirst into the slush that now covered the ground.

            Spitting snow, Chan stood for what seemed like the thousandth time. 

            "This is gonna take **_all _**night," he mumbled, tapping the pouch at his side. Right, Samuel, _please _don't be bluffing, just once…

            Sudden power. Arcs of electricity sparked, discharge flickering. Haloes crackled and auras sparkled, as a massive shape took form, conjured from a graven image into life. The Emperor's armor was damascened with arcane hexes, enameled with badges of jeering bestial faces. Grim icons of death leered from each shoulder pauldron, the harsh angularity of the entire suit inspiring an incredible amount of fear.

            A convulsion of coughing racked Chan. Hawking up gritty froth, he coughed again and again, spitting out blood and phlegm. Forcing himself to breathe normally, he kept a wary eye on Kula, wondering what other tricks she'd left. Briefly, the mage prayed for unity with the unnatural Stand, hoping against hope that it would actually _do _something-

            Kula swung; she leapt. The heel of her foot connected solidly with Chan's wrist, just as he tried to bring the autogun to bear. His _second _gun went spinning from his hand, just in time for Kula to get a firm grip on his elbow.

            Fuck. Now this was bad. 

            "Kula! Don't-"

            With implacable force, applied smoothly, she hoisted and _heaved_. Chan crashed to the floor of the arena, feeling as if his arm had just been broken. He'd fallen heavily: A pang in his own hip told him he'd crushed the damn card. But that wasn't the worse part-

            -He'd fallen on his keys.

            Pain. Momentarily, Chan shrieked, an expression of pure agony. Even worse, the psycho bitch from hell was closing in for the coup de grace.

            …Well, that sucked.

            His only hope now was the Emperor. With all his remaining strength, Chan commanded it to _move, _to fight. Just an arm motion or something.

            Samuel's creation remained stubbornly immobile.

            This definitely got a high score on the Oh-shit-o-meter.

*************

Somewhere Else…

            The ambulance careened down the empty road, sirens wailing. Blue-and-red light beamed in all directions, a strobing curtain of illumination. Now, in this rough area of town, there wasn't really anything unique about that. Why, ambulances roared by every hour, sometimes right into a still-raging gang war.

            What was special about _this_ ambulance was its cargo. It carried the comatose body of a certain celebrity fighter, fresh from the battle at the Stadium. Ryan had been smart enoughto take out a platinum contract with the local hospital, not particularly trusting the 'free' first-aid promised by the sponsors of KOF.

            As it turned out, he was right.

            A heavy black van, packed to bursting with white-armored hired muscle, waited just around the corner. Their mission: Ram the ambulance. Retrieve the patient.

            It was _meant _to be a milk run. Most drivers flopped on the pavement like fallen angels at the first sight of a gun. Besides, almost every man in the van was large and burly, steroid addicts waiting for their next fix. All carried large-bore sidearms, powerful enough to punch through solid steel. Some were literally salivating at the chance to cause great physical harm: Others were simply trying to appear cool.

            Too bad they didn't check under their van. They _might _have noticed the slight bulge attached to the fuel tank, spotted the flashing lights…

            …Recognized the bomb planted by the friendly gas station attendant at the petrol kiosk. 

            Just across the street, Samuel shook his head, the movement hidden by the lack of illumination in the darkened alley. He drew the compact detonator from his pocket, tossing it lightly in his hand. The gas station attendant had been _all _too glad to plant the packet of explosives, particularly in light of the three large gold bars dumped on his table.

            The wail of sirens drew closer. The thugs tensed, ready for action. Some actually remembered to flick the safety off their weapons. Muscleheads piled from their vehicle, sensing that incredible violence was close at hand. Even the _driver _climbed out, completely forgetting his duty.

            The ambulance neared the corner-

            -Samuel thumbed the red button.

            Surprise. 

            There was a soft yellow light, then the rumbling detonation of an explosion. The van leapt ten feet straight up, propelled by a sudden column of white flame. It broke apart in midair, flaming wreckage clattering down on the faces of those below. _Every _wall within thirty meters was flattened, hammered down a battering ram of concussive force.

            Perfect. 

            Now, Samuel was an Awakened. He _liked _hurting people as much as the next guy. Unfortunately, an odd series of events had left him completely unable to **'Cause direct, deliberate harm to any sentient being, except in self defense.' **

            As any lawyer could see, there were a _lot _of loopholes in that sentence. 

            With that thought in mind, Samuel blithely stepped from his alley, and walked right into the midst of the still-recovering group. Black duster whispering along the floor, he slipped on a nasty-looking spiked gauntlet with practiced ease.

            "Oh, no," someone whimpered. 

            "But **_yes_**," Samuel replied cheerfully. "Make your move."

            Someone yelled "Get that bastard!" and let loose with a full clip from his Uzi. Hot lea whizzed through the air, tracers lighting up the night. Casually, Samuel repelled it with a gesture, ricochets _pinging _off his shield. 

            The squad dropped their useless weapons, fired up their chainswords. Eight men attacked at once, diabolically whirring blades hacking at the air. One hand in his pocket, Samuel watched their thunderous charge, crooking one eyebrow in sardonic response. 

            The fight that followed was _both _incredibly brief and incredibly messy.

            The first white-armored attacker feinted low, swung his chattering blade in a beheading arc. Samuel ducked, hand plunging right through his opponent's chest. Blood spattered him, a brief geyser. The helmeted head crumpled as Samuel's second strike shattered it, a brutal sledgehammer blow.

            The next solider seized the opportunity, slicing in at the Awakened from the side. This time, Samuel interposed his victim's broken body, hand going for the holster at his hip. 

            The chainblade bit into dead flesh, another crimson shower. Roaring, the goon muscled the bloodstained blade around, readying the backstroke-

            -And found himself looking down the barrel of Samuel's handgun. 

            Once again, it was a pity he didn't have a chance to observe the weapon more closely. Even a layman would've marveled at the beauty and deadly efficiency present in the gun's smooth curves and lines. The six-shot design was completely outdated, but the targeting mechanism glinted with razor light, sharp enough to slash with in its own right.

            But more than anything else, they would've noticed the words embossed on the darksteel barrel**. 'MAGE . CANNON . 0-0-0.' **It was almost impossible to miss, considering that Samuel had just shoved it right into the hapless thug's face.

            ***BLAMBLAMBLAM***

            ***_splat***_

             The armor-piercing rounds punctured both stormtrooper helmet and skull, a tremendous blast that hurled brain matter from every orifice. 

            Shell-shocked silence. It's counterintuitive, but when you shoot someone in the head, the jet spray of gray matter pushes them *toward* the direction of the shot. Incredible, isn't it?

            Samuel delicately flicked the corpse with one finger, sending what seemed like an entire ensemble of ironwear clattering to the ground. He spun round, slicing out in a _blurringly_fast motion. Blood spurted, as the Mage Cannon neatly severed someone else's grasping hand.

            Samuel kicked out with all his might, a solid blow that tripped up the attacker. Spinning the handgun around, he thrust down-

            *****_ker-blam_*********

            -And _executed _the bastard with extreme predjudice.

            Unperturbed by the bloody demise of their comrades, the five survivors closed ranks and kept advancing. Samuel let fly with three _'Immolation'_ cards at once, paper turning to flame halfway through their trajectory. There was a searing blast of hearing, then a liquid scream-

            -Half the group hit the floor, screaming and rolling as they tried to put out the flames. 

            "Who _else_ wants some?"

            No answer, except for the sudden sound of scurrying feet. Everyone still standing took the chance to run, discarded weapons clanking to the pavement. Chuckling to himself, Samuel watched them run, dusting off his hands. Ah, well…All in a day's work. 

            He took a look around wandering briefly about for initial cleanup. It was pretty easy, especially since everyone he hadn't killed in the initial rush or two seemed to have fled.

            With one exception.

            The driver hadn't dared to move, hadn't dared to fire. He'd sat there like a statue, watching in stark terror as his comrades died all around him. 

            "OhnoI'msorryohgodnopleaseI'msorrypleasedon'tKILLME!"

            "Now, now. I hate to watch a grown man beg."

            Samuel looked around, retrieved a matt-black autogun from the ground. He kicked it across the floor, sent it spinning right to the man's booted feet.

            "Pick up the gun."

            Slowly, the petrified solider shook his head. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, and was obviously very close to a panic attack.

            "Pick up the gun."

            "I…I don't wanna, mister. You'll kill me."

            "Pick up the gun."

            There was nothing human left in Samuel's eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, the white-faced thug reached down. His hand crept closer to the matte-black cop killer, trigger drawing temptingly close…

            He leapt.

            The firebolt lit him up like a human torch, immolating him from head to toe. Shrugging, Samuel toed the weapon into the heart of the flames, ignoring the popping of ammo cooking off.

            "Hey, you all saw him…He had a gun."  

*************

Back Again…

            Jiazheng lay gasping in pain. He was dying, coming to pieces at the throat, chest and belly. Death called him, like a poisoned dink, just waiting for him to pass out. 

            If he fell asleep, he would die.

            The swordsman clawed away. He was a warrior, and all decent fighters clawed away from death. Throat in ribbons, air sucking in and out of an open windpipe, he crawled. If he knew anything in those moments, he knew he needed his sword. The blade sparkled with green lightning, energy pouring out into the floor. If only Jiazheng reached it, power would flow back into him, knit him back together.

           Everything else fell away. Jiazheng forgot who he had been, how he'd become so wounded, what he was fighting for. Caught between death and salvation, he became a blank slate, an unmarked soul.

            Two figures flitted by, one purple, the other grey and dust-stained. They shrieked, two raptors swooping, slashing, tangling, breaking away. Jiazheng ignored their battle, forcing himself to crawl forward. 

            The man scuttled forward, a lizard on his scaly belly. One more surge, throat rasping rotten breaths. Another grab, hands before him-

            -And Jiazheng gripped the sword.

            Life leapt in green bolts into his fingers. It hissed and cackled, reweaving his flesh. Torn skin and muscled dribbled away. Power burst in bright loops from the wounds at his throat, and lines of force formed into new flesh. The surge of power plunged through ravaged chest and stomach. 

            The wounds.

            Jiazheng clung to the sword and rolled over, as his memories came rushing back. There, they still fought. Chan struggled to rise, an immobile silent knight standing silent vigil over him. Kula pursued, a stooping hawk. Ice still shone in her hands, the same fiendish weapons that had torn into Jiazheng.

            It was time to act.

*************

            Kula formed her hands into claws again, flushed with triumph. Light glinted along razor-sharp points, overlaying delicate hands. Chan tried to move, fell back as stabbing agony followed. God, it hurt, it hurt…

            "Any last words? Feel like saying anything _cute _right before I kill you?"

            Chan managed to smile, propping himself up.

            "How 'bout…'Look behind you?'"

            As he'd expected, Kula simply chuckled derisively, shaking her head. She reached down to throttle him, those claws going for his throat.

            Jiazheng's strike got her right in the back.

            The impact was horrific. White-hot pain burst through her spine, and Kula hurtled through the air. Curling into a ball, she struck the sand and rolled. Back clenched, dying tissue by tissue, Kula bit back the agony, glaring at her attacker.

            Jiazheng gave Chan a thumbs-up, turning to glance at the slowly-rising mage. He seemed shaky on his feet --But in an instant, his attention was dragged right back to Kula.

            Too late.

            "Well, damn me for a fool," she muttered, still grinning from the floor. "I should have done the most devastating thing first. I can correct that easily enough--" And with that she raised her arm, pantomiming holding a gun-- and then energy flared.

            "DIAMOND EDGE!!!"

            Horror froze Chan's throat, as the long, cutting line of ice hurtled along the ground. Jiazheng jerked as the huge spears plunged right into him. Blood was suddenly everywhere, and he staggered and toppled to the ground, hard. Chan heard him draw in one ragged wheeze of a breath, and then another--

            And then his eyes glazed over, and he was still.

            Chan didn't even have to check. He'd seen enough dead bodies in his time to know the difference. He just couldn't move for a moment.

            Then he did, with extreme violence.

            Adrenaline pumping, Chan shoved both hands forward, the air swirling in a reverse funnel. The sudden vortex spat a long, spiraling beam of energy, a pillar-thick ray of crimson and sapphire force. He smashed at Kula with it, a hammer of rage and hate.

            Maybe he meant to yell something like 'Eat this' or 'Die' or something witty. Instead, it simply came out as an exhalation of rage and hate, fury at losing a friend to something abruptly so meaningless.

            "Counter Shell!!"

            Kula stopped it, cold. Her own hand stabbed out in a trail of diamond dust, sending the arcane blast screaming back towards the caster. Cursing, Chan conjured the Emperor's massive sword to hand, forcing it _into_ the reflected barrage. Swearing, he set his feet, bracing the blade with his left hand.

            The torrent hit all at once, like a battering ram. 

            Light struck the blade-And parted, forking to stream past on either side. Chan smelled cloth burning as his trenchcoat ignited for the first time, singed from the near passage. 

            Teeth gritted in a non-smile, he erased the useless weapon (Couldn't use the damn thing, anyway.), dropping back into his casting stance. Well, at least Samuel's magical construct obeyed standard rules. If only he could get it to _move._

            He avoided passing out, mostly by sheer luck, and turned around. Chan didn't have his gun, it was over there on the floor, and the freak had a predatory look on her face. Chan waited for the obligatory admonition against evil, but she just started toward him, cutely cracking her knuckles.

            "Too bad, Chan…Looks like you've just lost a friend today." 

            A frigid chill slid down Chan's throat, and into his gut.

            "No," he said, instantly feeling like an idiot for saying it. It was incredible how willing people were to see life in a corpse…Though in this case, considering the heavily-enchanted katana, Jiazheng might yet live. Not much hope for that, though.

            "…And very soon, you'll be next."        

            Great. 

            "Bullshit," Chan spat, rummaging through a shrinking mental library of spells. There _had _to something here, something _deadly…_

             The air began to swirl, temperature dropping even more sharply. Chan's ragged breath puffed out in clouds of fog, as snow funneled into the dome. Sensing another Wrath-Of-God attack, the few remaining audience members started streaming out of the arena, though several suicidal cameramen actually remained at their posts, still recording away. 

            Kula's hands sliced through the air in familiar patterns, tracing grooves in the freezing fog. Wind picked up, hammering Chan with snowflakes and small hailstones. The mage started on his _own _incantation, a rapid defensive magic. No use attacking if he didn't survive the retaliation, right? _Especially _if your opponent was building up enough magical energy to collapse a house.

            **_"SDM-"_**

****Oh, god. Not **_that. _**Not now.

            "**_FREEZING-"_**

            Great, Chan. You're really fucked now.

            "**_EXCECUTION!!!!"_**

****The world went white. Chan saw the assault as a single, clear plane of sweeping ice, tearing right along the floor. It was eerily beautiful, freezing shockwaves erasing everything in their wake. 

            _Time slowed._

            Then the stone orb in his pocket started to glow. Red light, jabbing out like a miniature sun. A sudden rumble…

            …And stone took flight. Most of it was from the scattered fragments along the floor. Others poured from the chipped remnants of the pillars, a cloud of stone dust reversing direction. Pebbles, scattered chunks of concrete and powdered granite rolled towards Chan, as if he'd just become a magnet for all that was _rocky _in the world.

            That was all he saw, in the brief moment before the ice wave hit.  

            The Freezing Execution scooped Chan up like a rag doll, hurling him back like a shot from a catapult. Still trailing streamers of swirling stone, the mage smashed into the wall with bone-shattering force, frozen over with a combination of stone clumps and ice.     

            There was a roar louder than anything else he'd ever heard in his life; A monstrous fist smashed Chan right in the chest, knocking the breath from him. The mass of rock struck with a shattering impact, more fragments hurtling in completely random directions.

            Chan didn't really _feel _each impact, didn't exactly suffer through the entire agony of being pummeled by fist-sized chunks of hurtling debris. Mercifully, his mind chose that time to take a little nap, simply registering it as a single thunderous blow that tossed him through the air like a discarded toy.

            Want to see that again in slow motion?

            Okay, first the shockwave itself hit, the magical equivalent of a wrecking ball swinging at full speed. If our hero hadn't had his few arcane defenses on, it would've killed him outright from the sheer force. He learnt a brief lesson there, at least: The human form ain't made to fly. In fact, Chan flew about ten feet before hitting the floor and sliding another ten, at which point he had the briefest moment to consider whether he was still alive.

            Then the shrapnel struck. It was like being pelted with a volley of tennis balls being hurled at bullet-velocity, promptly followed by the razor fusillade of splintered ice fragments, hurting him right through his sudden rock coating. Two actually shattered his glasses, slicing long, bloody strips right along Chan's face.

            The wall was the last to hit, a solid concrete cushion delivering a teeth-rattling jolt. Thank god for the Armor Of Stone: It actually hurt the least, all things considered. Of course, half his protective barrier shattered on first contact, leaving what seemed like a fused mass of badly-carved statue.

             One of the few import fighting games Chan had played was the Darkstalkers one, mainly because some of the less-mentally balanced girls in his class also liked the extreme violence. In particular, there's one special move where the over-endowed green-haired demoness moves forward, splits into two, and beats the ever-loving crap out of the poor guy whose player just forgot to block. 

            This felt exactly like that, except much more painful.

            Chan found himself lying on his back, in questionably more pain than he'd ever been in his life. That was actually a good thing, considering that the agony meant that he was still alive. There's a point where you simply can't feel any more pain, as if your body has turned into a single large bruise.

            The mage had just reached that point. More to the point, his Super Bar was full, and he was looking forward to _hurting _his opponent.

            There was a brief lull in the combat, a cooldown after a spectacular, world-destroying attack. Chan summoned up the last of his spiritual strength, shoving upwards. The now-ruined Armor Of Stone flaked and cracked around him, as brittle as glass. Like some newborn baby animal emerging from its shell (Minus the cuteness), Chan rolled back out into the cruel, cruel, world.

            The audience _gasped. _They hadn't expected him to get up, nothing after something like that. Kula's eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, completely disbelieving. She didn't look so evil now, just terrified.

            "But…But…I blasted you…And you blew up-"

            Chan felt a perfect, twisted clarity he hadn't felt in a long time. The world moved in a soft cushion of dreamlike distortion, like some counterpart of enlightenment. Gray mists were beginning to form over his eyes…That's what starts to happen right before you die. 

            He couldn't reach any of his weapons and couldn't lift them anyway. All Chan could do was fumble around in his pockets, hoping for something _sharp-_

_            -_His hands closed on a thin, placard rectangle. The Emperor card, still miraculously intact. 

            Call it an accident of fate. Call it karma. Chan let everything he had fill the talisman. He sent in his hate and rage, followed by the sharp, searing bloodlust that rose like a red tide. 

            Most of all, Chan sent in his fear of death, his terror of the abyss that waited for him in his dreams every night. Pain flavored the wash of terror, like cyanide spiking a bitter brew.

*************

            Somewhere else, in the midst of the alleyway, Samuel felt the sharp knife of emotion, felt the wordless mixture of rage and greed. He grinned. Chan had just made his choice, correctly _this _time.

            "It's a deal. Now, you'll probably spend the rest of your life wondering whether you did the right thing. Of course, it won't matter…"

*************

            For the briefest of moments, Chan heard a dark, insatiable presence somewhere in his skull. _Done, _it breathed, followed by an incredible feeling of smugness.

            Then the card sent something back. Chan felt an _energy _flow around him, a surge of sudden might. Power energized him, sending blue shocks whirling up and down his body. Effortlessly, Chan stood, a poetic breeze blowing about him.

            The Emperor transformed. Briefly, its colors were fluctuating: brightly green, luridly yellow, achingly blue. Then, as if blessed by some kind of glory, the armor was red, embellished in gold. The axe-like vanes rising behind the helmet expanded into a blood-red bat-wing of metal, beaming with infernal radiance.

            Gilded fylfot crosses suddenly adorned the shoulder pauldrons, embossed with screaming skulls. The Emperor had become a clockwork raptor, a mechanical machine of death. A terrible parody of a righteous knight, the Stand uncoiled to its full height, newly-polished visor gleaming.

            Chan knelt at the centre of a star, but why kneel?          

            Somewhere in the labyrinth room of his mind, runes curved in, inverting upon themselves in perfect mockery of what the mage had once been. They now channeled the infinite dark inward, right into his soul, an endless stream of pure corruption.

            Chan's finger extended without conscious thought.

            "I am Chan Yong Sheng, Awakened mage. You have hurt me, betrayed me, and been a real bitch in general. By the power of the Emperor, I will defeat you."

            Then he went Super-Postal. 

            Kula didn't even have the time to register surprise. Chan smiled at her and promptly blew her away, bringing to bear the full force of his new magical might. HUGE guns materialized from nothing, a brief extension of his will. Chan swung the unholy arsenal upward, brought the many laser sights to bear…

            Yep, you guessed it.      

                         **"DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"_****__**

****

*******_KA-WHOOOMMMMFFFFF***_

_            ***THOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM***_

            A tank-busting salvo tore through the air. Guns akimbo, Chan let fly with enough lead to outfit a small fleet of Russian nuclear submarines, roaring a wordless scream of rage through the sound-destroying barrage. The back wall crumbled, _extremely _suppressed by heavy plasma. A cloud of mini-missile explosions bathed the rest of the ring in liquid fire, hurling aside whatever had the misfortune of not being vaporized on impact.

            There was a single cataclysmic blast of force, as the bulk of the volley hammered into something solid. Glass shattered for five blocks around, and the arena suddenly became the House Of Really Good Air Conditioning. 

            More gunfire. A rumbling crash somewhere in the distance, as pillars were powdered, sending huge slabs of stone crashing to the ground. The building was taking serious structural damage, countless tiny holes punched _through _the very framework.

            Three thousand rounds of chaingun ammo, eighty laser blasts, fifty shots worth of heavy plasma, thirty-five grenades and innumerable mini-missiles later, Chan let go of the triggers. Between there and then, that was a _lot _of pain and suffering flying through the air. His ears rang; He wasn't going to be hearing properly again for a while.

            There wasn't enough of Kula's human face visible to show any surprise. The lower half of her legs had just vanished, severed cleanly. Her flesh was regenerating, knitting back together from absolutely nothing. Maybe, if Chan hadn't blown her legs off, she would've been able to flee. 

            But as it was, the outcome was never really in doubt.

            Chan had recovered the Mage Cannon from somewhere: Red-hot from the barrage he'd unloaded, the gun sizzled in his bloody, heat-blistered knuckles. His fingers looked like swollen sausages, close to popping on the griddle. The sickly-sweet smell of burning meat filled the air, as Chan's flesh started to adhere to the metal.

            Weaving unsteadily on weary feet, he staggered forward, weak as a newborn kitten. One broken arm dangled loosely at an odd angle, shattered by recoil from the chaingun. Powder burns stained the alternately singed/burnt trenchcoat, fine fabric little more than shredded tatters now. 

            Step. Cloth dragged through the melted slush, a treacherous, slippery mix of dirty water and debris. It soaked his trailing duster, weighing him down further. Strength rapidly failing, Chan forced himself forward, biting back the scream that threatened to erupt from his hoarse throat. The effort cost him more pain, sending blood trickling down a bitten lip.

            Another step. The grey mists returned, turning his vision into a surreal, nightmarish landscape. His ears rang, rendering Chan completely deaf and almost blind. The volume of noise had damaged his eardrums, sending them ringing like church bells. If he survived, Chan wasn't going to be hearing properly for a while.

            All-in-all, Chan was a wreck. But as they said, you had to look at the other guy/girl.

            What happened to Kula was honestly indescribable: Suffice it to say that no-one deserved to be _that _damaged, and yet remained breathing. Her bullet-ridden legs had been blown clean off, and all that remained of her human face was a single, undamaged eye, and several strands of white hair.

            More out of pity than anything else, Chan drew the Mage Cannon's hammer, barely noticing the additional agony as the heat started on his thumb. _One bullet,_ he decided. One bullet through that accusing eye, and it would all be over. There were several inaudible ratcheting noises as Chan worked the arming slide, ejecting several spent shells. They literally glowed as they hit the wet ground, raising small streamers of coiling steam.

            "In the name of the Awakened," Chan spoke softly, hating each word. "I name you Abomination, and Nephandus. With this hallowed weapon-"

            _Just one bullet._

            "-I deliver your sentence."

            A finger tightened on the trigger. The Mage Cannon racked, spun, clicked-

            ***_cha-CLICK***_

_            -_And jammed. 

            Frozen disbelief. Chan pulled the trigger again and again, as if to confirm what his eyes and ears told him. There was another series of scraping metal noises, as the little gears inside the gun started going the wrong way. Thoughts fragmented, the world seemingly crumbling about him in a jumble of sudden emotions and feelings, all mixed up with horror of what'd he –almost-  done. 

            A cool wind blew up, a gentle breeze that carried with it the smell of rain. Several snowflakes fell, a light sprinkling of fairy dust from above. Still frozen, convulsively working the trigger, Chan could merely watch as Kula faded away. A detached spectator, he stared as form dissolved, transparent gashes that broke into white, powdery snow and blew away-

            **"NO!!!"**

            He lunged forward, grabbed nothing. He'd dropped the Mage Cannon again: A veritable fogbank of steam billowed around him, the heavy weapon clattering from scorched fingers. Dumbly, he stared, watching as his foe made good her escape. For a long moment, there was silence, as his jangled mind struggled to digest what had transpired.

            Then the screaming started. Dully, Chan wondered who was doing it for a moment, before realizing it was himself. Molten agony shot up his shattered arm, as the ruin of his wrist finally registered. With an effort, the mage made himself stop, biting down on the next exhalation. 

            Euphoria hit. He'd done it! He'd won! 

            WON!!

            He…Well, right now, he was having trouble staying on his feet. The world spun round in interesting patterns of light, colors blurring together into a single swirling mosaic. Several people were staring at Chan with the expression of car wreck witnesses, watching as he swayed unsteadily. 

            His hand hurt terribly. In the small corner of his head, Chan wondered why.

            "Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen," Chan managed. The words came out oddly, almost sticking in his throat. He leaned forward in the approximation of a bow, then stumbled as his legs gave way. Pain and fatigue was beginning to catch up, exacting their tolls on body and spirit with a vengeance.  

             "Good night, and God ble-"

            Chan decided to take a little nap. Quite agreeably, he fell forward, earning another jolt of red-hot pain as he fell on his broken arm. The half-melted slush brought some relief to Chan's seared palm, like an ice-bag to the burns. Too bad it didn't do anything to stop the internal bleeding, not to mention his many assorted slash and stab wounds. Blood streaked the snow now, a veritable river of it staining the white crimson.

            So there Chan was, dying on the floor _again. _This was becoming a habit…Then again, it was highly probable he wasn't going to live long enough for it to become a habit.

            "Call 911! **_Call 911!!! CALL 911!!!"_**

Those were the last words Chan heard. The world spun one last time, turning to an ever-darkening shade of monochrome, like a television with bad reception. Dimly, he held onto the passing fancy that he'd stopped time once more, freezing the world in the exact moment of his damnation. Then even thought slid away, slipping like grains of sand through spread fingers.

            Everything went black. 

*************

            Allison alighted on the pavement, watching as Samuel shook the last few flakes of dust from his hands. He didn't even bother to look up, back still to her.

            "That was fast," She remarked. "It took about all of thirty seconds."

            "These were the sacrificial lambs," Samuel replied. The man swept his coat back, billowing dramatically in the wind. Ignoring the long trail of soot and dust, he fastidiously wiped his hands on the fabric, staining it even further. "They were merely here to confirm our identities. I'm sure the _real _shock troops are on the way."

            As if in response to his remarks, two black touring sedans roared down the street, engines revving. Heavy-duty machineguns poked from smoked glass windows, shrieking a sudden song of lead. Neither Awakened moved, seemingly completely unconcerned. Samuel's brows knitted in sudden, furious concentration-

            -The glass windows behind them exploded, as a hail of bullets tore them to shreds. By some miracle, the gunfire never touched the two figures, lead _bending _right around them. Allison and Samuel stood untouched in a torrent of gunfire, like friends sharing an umbrella in a sudden shower.

            Reality flickered. An instant later, the machinegun in the first car coughed, made a grinding noise, and stopped firing. With a roar, the rear of the vehicle burst into flame, as the machinegun exploded. Tires screeching, the flaming car lurched across the street, slamming hard into the reinforced metal fence protecting the long row of houses. 

            Another explosion rocked the car as the extra magazines of ammunition exploded. No one emerged from the gutted remains, leaving another flaming ruin in the alley. 

            Seeing the fate of the lead car, the driver of the second vehicle hit the brakes, hard. Gears screamed as the car began skidding to a halt. The auto hit a patch of oil left by the other car, all traction lost in a sudden, brief skid. Brakes locked. Tires turned.

            Still speeding, the sedan whipped about, rear end fishtailing in a wide circle. Spinning helplessly out of control, the big car slammed into the burning wreckage of the first auto. With a _whoosh _of burning gasoline, the second car's engine ignited. 

            Shrieks of agony poured from the vehicle, but _still _no one emerged. Locking mechanisms jammed, the passengers faced a painful, drawn-out death, melting in the remnants of their own transport. This time, Allison flicked her lighter, just once, a hint of a smile crossing her face.

            The car leapt into the air, as the fuel tank detonated. It was an ugly, horrifying to die, smoke still pouring from smoldering rubber.  

            "A nice touch," Samuel congratulated. Gently, he rested a hand on his companion's shoulder.

            "I didn't mean to be so _violent. _It seems a bit ostenious to me, after all."

            Allison shrugged the hand off, glanced about. The street was deserted; Windows had slammed shut at the first sign of conflict. All was quiet, except for the roar of the burning cars. "No sirens," she remarked. "That's not good…The police should've been here by now."

            Samuel only 'hmmed' in response. They were making small talk, nothing more. 

            "Let's go," he stated abruptly, a definite sign the conversation was at an end. Samuel started walking, Allison falling into step right behind him. No one stopped them, only a few peepholes carefully creaking open to watch them go. 

            "So…Chan won. The effort cost him much, but he'll fight again. Of course."

            "Of course."

            "Did you handle the other one?"

            "Yes. She'll escape…_Eventually_. By then, it'll already be too late."

            "Good." 

            All was quiet for a long time, silence disturbed only by the soft whisper of footwear across the ground. Almost as an afterthought, Samuel let a single card slip from his fingers, a token to mark their passing. It was only civil after all, he reasoned. Time to show Ignis exactly where the battle lines were drawn.

            Then the unlikely team departed the streets. The road was once again deserted, devoid of all life. All was still, all was quiet-Except for the barest hint of sound, the shriek of a ghostly wind rushing through the myriad holes. 

            Or perhaps, it was the insane chortling of demonic laughter. 

            And as always, the snow continued to fall. 

(Well, that's it for _this _fight. That was really, really messy…We'll have to leave the main group alone for a while next time, to take a look at the answer to an intriguing question: What happened to Andro? Once again, suggestions are always welcome, and please read and review. See you next time!)


	15. Wayward

**Chapter 15: Wayward**

            "If you're going to kill me, get it over with."

            Andro spat the words through broken teeth, blood bubbling from his lips and dribbling down his chin. Strapped to the cold metal of the torture chair, he was held in place by heavy steel restraints at the hands, feet and neck. Wiry muscles strained against them with all his remaining might, but the solid contraption failed to budge even an inch.

            Completely unable to move, Andro was literally aflame with hate, his eyes flaring like pits to hell. The white-coated scientist, standing inches away, took an involuntary step back. He'd heard this man had scalped a careless guard who'd ventured too close.

            With his teeth.

            Just watching Andro, the labrat believed it with all his heart.

            "Getting impatient, aren't we?"

            White teeth gleamed in the darkness, just outside the perfect circle of light bathing the chair. Metallic blades clinked together, as Andro's tormentor shifted, obviously amused by the proceedings. All the while, he had controlled everything, watching as his minions carried out his orders.

            "Don't worry. We're in no hurry. In fact..."

            The gloating interrogator stepped forward into the light. His red tongue played over his thin lips like a moist serpent, even as Andro trembled with the need to throttle him. 

            "...This is only the beginning."

            The smallest of gestures, and the quivering scientist scurried away. Thousands of volts coursed through the metal framework of the chair, filling the air with smell of roasting meat. Andro thrashed, fighting his restraints, twitching to the awful force of the current. Blood dribbled from his mouth as his teeth shattered one by one, smashing on each other from the force of his spasmodic movement.

            Another gesture, and the shock treatment ceased. Just for a moment.

            "I have you now, Alistair Andrew Gill. I don't need the rest of the Awakened, don't need that fool Ignis to order me around. No matter how long it takes, I will break you."

            Andro looked up. Already, his wounds were healing, fuelled by a white-hot core of internal strength. A new row of teeth ratcheted in position, pushing out the shattered fragments. Even his bleeding gums sealed over, reknitting themselves with a surgeon's precision.

            "Therefore, I _intend _to destroy your mind, and leave your body a vegetable—Alive, but unable to think, to act, to move. Until we reprogram you, that is." ****

            "I...will _enjoy..._ killing you," he managed, between ragged gasps for air. He leaned forward, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of his tormentor's face. It was so maddeningly _familiar…_

Step. Polished boots scraped across the floor, tapping out a staccato tune. Once again, there was that sound of clinking metal, as many, many razor-sharp blades struck against each other. 

            The bastard took his time, take great care to lean backwards slightly, so that the legs emerged first, followed by the torso, and lastly, the head.  Whoever this joker was, he was trying to make a dramatic entrance, like the way people do in the movies. 

            Silence.

            "_You."_For the first time in his life, Andro couldn't think of anything else to say. 

            "Me," Zero agreed. Almost dismissively, he turned away, signalling to his underlings.

            "I shall close my eyes for a minute. Do as much damage to him as possible…But leave the tongue. I want to hear his screams." 

************

            It was much later. Pain had happened.

            Andro tried to make it go away. His sides ached, blue-black bruises slowly turning a shade of yellow: Gingerly, the assassin turned his head, feeling tooth chips grind below his jaws. Another sickening wave of nausea rolled over him, sending s throat tightening with the effort of _not _throwing up.

            Still clad in his torn, blood-caked clothes, he took stock. All his blades, every quasi-magical device and even his _visor_ had been taken...They'd taken _everything, _the bastards. Andro felt the loss acutely, like the pain of an amputated limb. _That _hurt more than anything else, in a way. 

            _Was he enjoying this? Not the pain, of course…He'd pass on the pain. In fact, he'd passed out on the pain. But there was the small part of him he heard every day, the part that wanted to hurtl after the killing had already achieved it's purpose. _

_            Mr. Demon, he called it. As apt a name as any. Pain brought him out, pain and hate. Andro had killed men with his bare hands, mad with anger and terror and tasting, deep inside, the infinite hate of Mr. Demon…And it was sniffing the air._

            Andro awoke in an interrogation chamber.  Somehow, even before he opened his eyes, he _knew _it was an interrogation room. There was some intangible element to the room, something that suggested pain and answers and harsh light and thin people talking with bad German accents.  Of course, that last might have been the result of too many bad American WWII propaganda movies, but he had the _right _to be bitter.

            "So you're finally awake."

            How many times is that line used?  The hero is laid cold, and awakens in bizarre, and their questioner immediately comments on how long they've been out.  Usually right before brandishing the whips and hot pokers.

            He couldn't move. Andro had been manacled down to a flat metal slab, the cold surface uncomfortably chill against his back. Both his hands and feet had been fastened to the table, with the careful application of several pounds of solid steel. Zero's voice piped down from a microphone mounted far, far above, sounding smug and slightly amused.

            It took all of Andro's strength to form his right hand into the hand gesture for "Bite me, Mr. Peon.". Somehow, he managed it, aiming the signal at the only visible camera in the room. There was a dry, metallic chuckle in acknowledgement, followed by sudden silence as the microphone shut off.

            Good. He _hated _that bastard.

            Andro tugged vainly at his bindings, trying to loosen just one wrist. It was a wasted effort: _Someone_ up there knew what they'd been doing when they fashioned these restraints. He simply couldn't get enough leverage to free his damned arms. Cursing, he tried again-

            -That's when he noticed the needles. A thin stream of blood trickled down his face, as his frantic motions caused the many, many needles stuck in him to shift. Andro tilted his head to the side, glancing at the six or seven needles embedded in his sides and his arms. IV drips, intravenous needles, mini-ECCGs, you name it, it had been hooked up to him. A small portion of his scalp had been shaved, where some kind of magnetic clamp had been attached.

            Very deliberately, Andro emptied his mind. All right…He couldn't do anything. Or at least, _Andro_couldn't do anything to get himself out of this situation. There was only one door, placed on the far side of the room. From his vantage point, he spotted a winking green reader, waiting for the appropriate code.

            That was his way out. Now all he had to do was to wait.

************

            Reiko Nagisa, magical girl extraordinary, was _not _having a good day. Lunch tray in hand, she shuffled towards the prisoner's ward, slow steps betraying her hesitation. Of _all _days, why did today have to be her turn? It always seemed to be her bad luck to have to handle the 'special' captives whenever they arrived.

            She had good reason to be nervous. As a magical girl, she'd been one of the Awakened personnel assigned to guard the Cartel Team when they'd been brought in. What a nightmare that was! 

            The big guy had gone berserk on the first day, a rampaging behemoth bent on destruction. He'd had a nice, homicidal run of it too: By the time Yiming had gone down, he'd been hit with enough tranquilizer to neutralize a third world country. And the Stand-wielder…Alvin had been nice and quiet for the first few days, keeping to himself. 

            On the third day, he throttled a guard to death, stole his gun, and went on a killing spree. Wielding two handguns Chow-Yun-Fat style, Alvin had stalked the corridors, killing anything he'd met. Seven dead mages and one containment squad later, he ran out of ammunition, and placidly surrendered. They had found him sitting at the end of a bloodstained passage, with the words **'ASCENSION NOW** 'scrawled in brilliant red letters on the walls.

            The two girls had…Reiko's mind shied away from that thought. It was just too much: _No one _should've been able to do so much damage with a hairpin. It simply wasn't right.

            She realised that she'd been standing at the door for a _long _time now, staring blankly into empty space. Taking a deep breath, Reiko adjusted her outfit, smoothening down her miniskirt. 

            Now, your average defender of the light and destroyer of demons has just crested puberty, usually with an impossible body frame and an amazing complexion…Not to mention the body and face of that annoying high school cheerleader who was the most popular girl in school and crushed your fragile ego many a time you worked up the nerve to talk to her. 

            Of course, they tended to lose mental acuity: No sane person would've willingly walked into the same room as a severely pissed Andro, restrained or not. It simply wasn't conducive to a long life. Which is why they'd chosen Reiko, in the first place.

************

            Once again, this scene has been repeated many, many times…It's kinda clichéd, if you think about it. Your typical, pure-hearted, fluff-brained anime ditz meets a dark, brooding hero, often in the midst of a crisis of faith. She helps him regain his confidence, and he goes on to fulfil his 'destiny;. And of course, by the end of the series, they're well and truly 'attached'. Happy ending, hearts-and-flowers stuff as the credits roll.

            Right?

            Now, let's take a step back, and look at the situation from another angle. Or, to be specific, let's look at Andro. 

            See the name of the chapter? It's not 'The Saved' or 'Andro Redeemed' or anything like that. It's 'The **_Wayward_**', the title often conferred on members of that lost creed. One of those psychopathic, often Bible-spouting, walking horrors, with twisted powers and an infinite capacity for violence. 

            Andro's a particularly violent one, even as psychopaths go. In the last few hours, he's been captured, tortured and savagely beaten several times, and is **_very _**angry about his current situation.

            Have we mentioned that he resents his captors? Good.

           No way is this going to work out. Instead, there's going to be violence, and an incredible amount of bloodshed. And, it's all about to begin as soon as Andro gets his hands free…

            Is it just me, or has it suddenly gone cold in here? 

************

            The door slid open, receding noiselessly into the ceiling. Andro started: Had he actually dozed off? God, what was wrong with him? 

            Anyway, it didn't particularly matter. He'd been expecting a necromantic horror, perhaps a small army of the goons he'd seen to escort him to his final resting place. In fact, Andro had expected pain, agony and a whole new level of suffering, intersected by insults casting doubts on his simian ancestry.

            He had _not _expected a cute seventeen-year old in a miniskirt and a purple hairdo.

            Now, the aforementioned girl bustled into the room like a miniature whirlwind, cheerful as only an airhead could be. She set down a tray she'd been carrying on a medical table, (The cutting implements, so close and yet so far. Damn.) before pulling up a chair next to Andro's slab.

            "Mr. Andro?" A prissy and superior voice, with just enough saccharine sweetness to grate on his nerves. Andro started to imagine what her vocal cords would look like, independent of her throat.

            "Yeah?" He tugged again, without much hope this time. 

            "Please, Mr. Andro. There's no need to continue with this foolish act. My name's Reiko Nag- Wait, I mean…_Sailor _Reiko Nagisa, and I'm here to welcome you-"

            "Wait." Sailor? What kinda title was that? More carefully now, Andro took in the outfit, the odd hairstyle, the perpetually happy demeanour, the high-pitched voice…

            …And the heart-tipped wand that rested in a holster.

            "You're no magician…You're a _mahou__ shoujo **"**_****

Unperturbed, Reiko fiddled with her chair, ignoring the venom that filled Andro's voice. All of Andro's bad, bad memories started flooding back. _Sweet Merciful Lord, not again,_ Andro fervently prayed. _Not twice in once lifetime. _

             "Now, there's no need to state the obvious, Mr. Andro. As I said, I'm here to welcome you into the fold, and save your soul from the self-created demons that intend to consume it."

            A bright, cheerful smile.

            _Oh, I hate you very much right now, God._

            "'Welcome me into the fold?'" 

            Andro sounded like he couldn't quite believe it. He'd sounded like that once before, when a gang at our school tried to shake him down for cash and phrased their 'request' just wrong. The muscle right under his left eye started jumping like crazy. 

            Reiko nodded happily, smiling cheerily. 

            "Yes! Don't worry, Andro, that whole fateless business won't cause you anymore problems once you join the forces

of Good!"

            "The same... Good…That nuked a city that happened to be in the way? The same side that tortured me for three hours?"

            "Why, of course. What better way to serve our Purpose?"

            "What benefits?"

            "Why, you'll be able to dish out TRUE justice to whole HORDES of evil creepy things, and help nice Mr. Ignis take over the wor-" 

            Andro tuned her out. This had to be some kind of joke…Maybe the old good-cop/bad-cop routine? They couldn't _possibly_ expect him to take it seriously. Then again, they _knew _he knew that they didn't expect him to take it seriously, which meant that this offer actually was genuine-

            -No. 

            The sensible thing would be to give up. He knew it. And then –probably- they would let him loose, end the torture. Andro was under no illusions of his ability to resist: Everyone cracked in the end, given sufficient time and pressure. There was no such thing as a man of iron…He was merely delaying the inevitable.

            But Zero would have won. Oh, yes. People like Zero or Ignis always came back, especially when they thought they'd found a weakness. Granting them a victory would be the worse possible thing he could ever do.

            The girl was still smiling her cheerful smile. Here and now, more than anything else, Andro wanted to see the end of that grin. Reiko watched him with her equivalent of a penetrating gaze; Namely, a dreamy stare. Personally, he wondered what thoughts were running through her head.

            (Actually, Reiko's exact thoughts were: "***Sigh*** Look at that tortured expression…It's _soooo_bishonen." But what Andro didn't know wasn't about to hurt him.)

            "Hmm…" Andro pretended to consider it. "…I'm considering it."

            "_Really? _You **ARE?!"**

Like hell. But once again, she didn't have to know that. 

            (For some reason, Andro couldn't shake the image of raw meat thrown into a pool full of sharks.) 

            "'Course, I'll need some reassurance that I won't get my brain wiped the moment I agree-"

            "That's the sort of attitude that I'm here to fight! I'm here to bring hope to all of you!" She laid a free hand on Andro 's

shoulder. "No matter how bad it looks, you should never give up hope! Especially with a Warrior of Love and Justice on your side!"

            Andro counted the exclamation marks, and concluded he was dealing with a psycho. 

            "….Fine…"

            Yup, _this _is the part where the magical girl decides that it's up to _her _to bring the hero to the side of good/to the path of light, as he's her _destiny. _Of course, _nothing _can change someone if he doesn't want to be changed, particularly in Andro's case. Many have tried, quite literally giving their lives in doing so, when Andro got his hands on them. One tried with an overpowered taser. Nothing really worked. 

            Then Andro launched his _brilliant _escape ploy.

            "By the way…Uh…"

            Damn, there was just no delicate way to put it.

            "These manacles are starting to kinda chafe. Could you loosen them…Just for a moment?"

            He tried a winning smile. Unfortunately, it looked more like a crocodile's grin, revealing far too many teeth. Reiko shuddered, and shied slightly away, gripped by a sudden sense of self-preservation. In reply, Andro sniffed in disdain. He raised his head, making the restraints that enclosed him look like an unnecessary barbarism.

            "I thought we might talk for a while first, Mr. Andro."

            "A session of soul-searching, is that it?"

            Reiko fidgeted, tugging at her outfit again. She forced herself to stop- She was _not _preening for him, damnit! 

            "Something like that."

            Even with a comfortable distance of several feet between them, Reiko already felt the effects of Andro's palpable personal force, a literal aura of command. It was hard not to agree with whatever he said- It simply seemed the perfectly _right _thing to do.

            "This is _really _humiliating…Reiko. Please help me."

            "I…I _can't. _I'm not supposed to do that."

            "Call the guard, then." Andro's voice was soft and warm now. "If I attempt anything untoward, you can have me maced and beaten before they strap me back down."

            Reiko knew the drill. Zero had personally assured her that a chemical spray, combined with a stiff stick, was the most effective method in 'persuading' the Awakened. She'd hated the man from that very moment…A true warrior of Love and Justice never had to resort to cruelty!! 

            …Or at least, that was the idea…

            "…I'm not going to do that, Mr. Andro."

            "How humane, Miss. Reiko." There was a glint of merriment in Andro's pale eyes. 

            "Cruelty is not- No, it's _never _necessary."

            "Not even if I try to kill you."

            "I don't believe you'll do that."

            "Then unlock the manacles, Miss. Reiko."

            The magical girl blew a noisy stream of air through her nose, thinking. All the while, Andro kept watching her, eyes fixed firmly on hers. Blushing slightly, Reiko looked away, biting her lower lip. You could almost _smell _the _shoujo_potential a mile away. And you could _definitely _see the cherry blossoms-

            Andro let disappointment slip onto his face, a gradual process.

            "That enlightened manner of yours is really nothing more than a sham, isn't it, Miss? For all your protestations, you're still scared to death of me…Just like all the others…"

            "Nonsense!! Now, could we talk about something else."

            The assassin laughed, a deep and rolling laugh, a sound like music. "Of course." He shifted gracefully, trying to get himself comfortable. "What would you like to know?"

            Reiko picked up a notepad, balanced it on her knee.

            "Oh, whatever comes to mind. Your name, perhaps?"

            "You know that."

            "I meant your full name."   

            "Andro is the only name I have ever known."

            (_Ohhh__, mysterious too, _Reiko thought. _I kinda like that.)_

            "Alright…Exactly how old are you, Mr. Andro?"

            "I've no idea."

            _Extraordinary, _she thought. _He's negated his **entire **personality. Whoever 'Andro' is, he's been invented from whole cloth. _

"Are there large segments of your past which you don't remember?"

            The prisoner's eyes blinked lazily. "I know what I know," he said. "Which, I suppose, is what I need to know at the present. And some things…"

            Their eyes met again, a longer, almost involuntary gaze. This time, Reiko went completely red in the face, fiddling aimlessly with her notepad. God, was she _blushing? _

            "I…I see…"

            "Reiko?"          

            "Yes?"

            "The manacles," he said softly. 

            "I've told you. I can't…"

            "_Please._" Andro looked down at the horrid device despairingly. "A little dignity."

            Reiko's mouth twitched. She'd always hated restraints…In other institutions, she'd seen the look on the faces of those tied down for days on end, degraded beyond hope by their helplessness. Almost angrily, she picked up her handphone. 

            "Send in an orderly."

            Within minutes, a man in white hospital scrubs entered the room, standing unobtrusively by the door. With a nod from Reiko, he strode forward, producing a key from his pocket. Carefully, trying to stay out of Andro's potential reach, he unfastened the restraints, taking a careful step back. 

            "Ah, much better." Andro shrugged free, rubbed his chafed wrists. He stretched his long fingers, and looked at them. They flexed once, checking that everything was still functional. "Thank you, Miss Reiko." 

            Then, in one convulsive motion, he lunged forward, literally ripping the wires right from his skin, and snagged the orderly's collar. Before the man could utter a sound of protest, Andro brought his head slamming down against the sharp metal edge of the slab. There was a wet, splattering sound, flesh, bone and then brain matter fragmented under the incredible blow.

            The orderly gurgled, eyes bulging. Blood poured out from the horizontal wound across his forehead, where flecks of messy grey brain tissue oozed. 

            Andro's nostrils flared. He held on for a moment, savouring the sight of the warm, dying object at the end of it. 

            At that very moment, Reiko knew her life was over. 

            "…You lied."

            "I did?" Andro tilted his head to one side, throttling into a slow walk. He didn't even seem to notice the needles that tore free, or the incredible amount of injury he caused himself. Andro's hands clenched into claws, streamers of shadowstuff turning each finger into a cutting scalpel. Blood dripped from them, a steady _drip-drip-drip._

"I do that sometimes. Not often, but it happens. Now, come, come. It's time to die."

            Somehow, Reiko got her wand into her hand. 

            "**BEGONE, THING OF EVIL!!!"**

She triggered it once. Magic spewed forth, a sudden blast of pink force. Andro blocked it, shook it off, and kept walking.

            "Begone, thing of good."

            He dashed forward, a sudden rush. Fingers dug into Reiko's flowing hair with an implacable grip.

           She screamed. It was almost pretty, the high, sweet sound of it, but of such short duration that it sounded like a laugh. Because, just as the screen left her throat, Andro took her head in his elongated hands and twisted it, his eyes half-closed in bliss. There was a small, satisfying _crunch, _as her small cervical vertebrae snapped. 

            Head bent at an impossible angle, Reiko went limp.

            Calmly, Andro let the dead body drop to the floor. He simply stepped out from the now-unlocked door, an avatar of slaughter incarnate. Somewhere far away, the general alarm started to ring: Red light bathed the corridors in a hellish glow, contrasting oddly with the black blood spattered on his hands. Almost absently, Andro left his hands the way they were…He far preferred their new, savage aspect.

            Whistling a merry tune to himself, Andro started down the corridors, armed and dangerous.

            Death followed in his wake.

************

            The guards were dead, but Andro wasn't.

            And now, the ingrate was trying to destroy Zero's plans, and it was no longer a game or an experiment. He _had _to die, in pain and misery. How had he dared to consider such a thing? He should be on his knees, a worthless supplicant begging for mercy, how _dare _he?

            Zero watched Andro walk away, felt his urge for destruction. The youth's perfidy was useless, of course. There was no way out not already covered by extermination squads. He could order Andro's annihilation with a minimum of effort, simply issuing the order over the communications network, but it was the _thought _that had so infuriated Zero.  

            The man gathered himself, drawing his power in. He _knew _that Andro was now armed: He'd removed knives and other bladed weapons from the fallen. Zero didn't object, knowing that the weapons would give Andro hope. For a victory to be complete, the victor had to take everything. He would take Andro's hope, then his sanity, and _finally_ his life.

            It was time to expand his boundaries, Zero decided. Time to put the fear of God into Mr. Alistair Andrew Gill. 

            He picked up the phone, dialled a certain number.

            "Krizalid? Retrieve the prisoner."

************

            A true embodiment of violent death, Andro stalked the corridors like some urban legend. He didn't torture his opponents: He didn't toy with them. No, with the red haze of his own fury distorting his vision, he killed. And killed. And killed some more.

            Dead bodies lined the sides of the walls, still bleeding out the last few drops of their lives. Covered in clotted blood, somewhat resembling a cut-rate Rambo, Andro now sported a bandoleer of nasty little knives, confiscated from an unfortunate soldier that'd happened to be in the way. He'd lost track of the deaths after number twelve: It was all one glorious blur of violence to him now.

            There was the sound of scurrying feet somewhere far ahead, as those who could still walk fled for their lives. This corner had been a particularly vicious little skirmish, with little room for gunfire. More often than not, the bad guys got in their own way, literally crowding each other in their desperate assault.

            Andro sped up, taking larger strides now. He wasn't getting out of this alive, he knew. All that mattered was how large a body count he racked up before _they _got him.

            Up ahead, two silver-masked kamen swirled their black capes majestically, top hats and canes at the ready. 

            "You shall not pass," They intoned, already preparing scourge-spells. Andro leapt, jacknifed in midair. A razor-edged petunia sliced off the tip of his right ear, followed by a 'Super Taurus Charge', whatever the hell that was. In return, the knife tore out one's throat, more bodily-fluid redecoration. Andro dodged another petunia, caught the third-

            -And flung it right back.

            It was a good throw. The bishonen never knew what hit him, as the flower plunged right into his eye, metal petals digging right into his brain. If that didn't kill him, the solid palm-thrust to the nose did, another new spear into his brain.

            Prising a lion-headed cane from cold, dead fingers, Andro retrieved his bloodied knife, ignoring his bleeding ear. He rose, turned…

            The surviving kamen looked around for backup, realised he wasn't getting any. 

            You killed Reiko-san," he proclaimed in a deep, yet somehow nervous voice.  "And Meimi-chan and Atsuko-san and...anyway, you must be punished!"

            Andro disembowelled him, a long cut straight up from stomach to neck. The arterial spray spattered Andro with gore, right before he completed the slash.

            As the Bible puts it, 'And the dirt came out.' 

            Gurgling, trying to hold his intestines back in, the kamen toppled. Andro literally pirouetted with almost ballistic precision, neatly slicing the top off his head off with the _other _knife.

            Then the _presence _intruded on his mind.

            Call it the sixth sense. Call it intuition. 

            Whatever it was, Andro _sensed _the hidden door slide open to his right, even before his ears registered the noise. A _huge _form filled the doorway, sporting a truly impressive suit of powered armour. The assassin looked up. And up. And up.

            Cold blue eyes glared at him, icy to the core. Barely visible, a shock of white hair stood up like a banner, somewhere above an entire landscape's worth of metal. Actually 'glare' is the wrong word...What's the facial equivalent of a scream?

            Without thinking, Andro struck. The stained blade tore through armour like Swiss cheese, ramming solidly into the man's shoulder. Still staring with that intense glare, Krizalid merely took a single step back, unperturbed. Slowly, deliberately, making sure that Andro could watch it, he reached up and pulled the knife out.

            He smiled. The flesh melded seamlessly, flowing like water. 

            A second later, Krizalid held up the blade, crumpled like a ball of tin foil, and gently tossed it in Andro's direction. 

            _Bad, this is **very **bad, _Andro thought numbly. He was backing away now, becoming more and more convinced that this was _not _going to end well. 

            The fist hit his jaw with all the impact of a frozen ham fired from a cannon. Andro's jaw shattered instantly under that incredible impact, his entire set of lower teeth taking flight. Krizalid's steel-toed boot hit his groin with incredible force, sending Andro three metres into the air.

            Andro hit the ground hard, in more pain than he'd ever felt in his life. He didn't even try to move; Just remembering to breath was already an effort. The newcomer waited for him to begin the slow, torturous crawl back to his feet, his expression amused now. 

            All right. The bastard was _asking _for it.

**_            "ARMY OF ONE!!!"_**

            A small army of Andros charged their foe, face set in hate-twisted grimaces. All blades and empty eyes, they simply rolled over Krizalid like a wave, swarming with by dint of their sheer numbers. Fists pummelled and knives stabbed, ants trying to bring down a giant. 

            Flame sliced the air. Screaming their soundless shrieks, the copies fell away, incinerated by searing gouts of thermonuclear fire. Their flaming bodies fell away, disintegrating before they hit the ground. 

            _He saw through the illusion._

Krizalid punched straight out, snagging the _real _Andro. Futilely, the assassin kicked, trying to free himself. Blades cut twin furrows down Krizalid's arms, planing away more armour. 

            He was laughing now, ignoring Andro's faltering assault. The mocking laughter cored into Andro's very soul, gripping his heart in icy talons of dread. 

            "Just my kind of scum."

            Then Krizalid smashed him into the floor, head-first. 

            _Oblivion._

************

            The first thing Andro noticed about the room was that it was obviously painted by someone with an unhealthy fetish for white. Of course, this made some sense once he realized he was in a hospital, but it was a little jarring at first.

            It was the gown that _really_ tipped him off, once he'd thrown the covers from his bed. The smell of disinfectant, and the plastic privacy curtains hanging from the ceiling confirmed his suspicions.

            So, what was he doing in a hospital anyway?

            Last he remembered, Andro'd been in the kind of predicament a few stitches doesn't usually doesn't cure too well. Obviously he'd missed something down the line here.

            "Can you hear me, Alistair?"

            Andro whipped around to find a man with a bushy beard and obvious toupee sitting by the bedside, a thick notebook held firmly in his hands. He looked incredibly nervous, fighting to keep a serene expression on his face.

            "Can you understand me? My name is Dr. Freud. Can you say that?"

            Silence.

            "What?"

            The man smiled, a look of relief flooding his features.

            "That's all right, Alistair. I suppose you must be feeling... well, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but it's very important to stay calm and bear with us."

            "Calm? Sure, I can do calm. _Tell me what's going on_."

            Andro countered his smile with his own, a terrifying grin that reminded one of a crocodile's maw. Unbidden,  the black rage welled up like a rising tide, the familiar red haze of hate obscuring his vision. With an effort of will, Andro forced it back down. 

            "Answers, yes... Well, to start with, you're in the Singapore Institute of Mental Health. You've... I don't know how to tell you this but... you've been mentally unstable for a very long time."

            A black hole opened in the pit of his stomach. 

            Zero. Zero had _said _he'd crush Andro's mind.

            "I... see."

            Freud stroked his beard nervously.

            "I'm glad you're taking this... so well, Alistair. I can see how this would be rather startling information for you..."

            _"How long?"_

            "Ah..."

            "How long have I been here?"

            "Ten... ten years."

            "…Ten…?" 

            Andro looked down at his hands; they didn't look ten years older.

            "Yes, you were brought here as a child and-"

            Freud made a sound like a doggy chew-toy, as Andro's fists closed round his tie. Brutally, Andro hauled him forward, tugging on the strip of fabric. _Kill him, _the monster inside urged, sending Andro's fingers twitching in anticipation. 

            "Ack…Alistair... _please_."

            Time to wring the truth out of Dr. Quackers.

            "Dr. Freud," Andro spoke, a rising fury infusing each word with undeniable conviction. "Don't _bullshit _me, you ignorant fucker. Cut the charade and play real nice…Or, I might go and do something really not 'calm'."

            He punctuated the sentence with a sharp twist, ignoring the doctor's frantic clawing.

            "Listen... to me... I can... help you..."

            "Good." 

            Andro loosened his grip, slightly. 

            "You're still not... *wheeeze* cured. Residue... *wheeeze* delusion."

            "_That's_ not what I want to hear."

            "It's the truth. You must..."

            "You need to work a little harder on that 'truth' thing."

            Andro swung out of the bed, prompting Freud to take a step back. 

            "Do you believe in Jesus, Doctor? I sure hope so..."

            "Please, Alistair. I know you can distinguish reality from fantasy, you just have to listen-"

            "Listen to _this_!" 

            That did it. Andro's fists closed round Freud's's throat _again_, patience falling into the fires of Hell. 

            "I'm in hell, you understand?! Real hell! Real pain, constantly, everyday for eternity! Zero-!"

            "There_ is_ no Zero!" 

            With surprising strength Freud shoved the assassin away. Andro never saw where he took the gun from.

            "He doesn't exist! None of them exist! It's not real! _All lies! **LIES!!!**_"

            And _he_ said Andro was crazy. Very slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, Andro nodded. Freud panted for awhile before the red tinge finally left his skin, leaving a blotchy spots in their wake. Embarrassed, he stuck the gun in his coat pocket and sat back down.

            "I'm... very sorry. I... I lost my temper."

            "That's...That's…okay...Doc." He eyed the bulge in the doctor's pocket, considering whether to make a grab for it.

            "Will you hear me out? Will you at least listen?"

            Silence. It's not a good idea to argue with someone who's carrying a gun.

            Evidently, the good doctor took that as a 'yes.' Freud smiled and bent down to pick up his notebook from the floor. 

            "You see this book?" he asked, holding it out.

            "For twenty years the _only_ thing you've done, besides the usual physical necessities, is write in this book. That was it, you never spoke, never gave any indication of noticing the world around you. Today," he paused to open the back cover, revealing a page covered in tiny black scrawl, "you finished it. And now, well, here you are."

            He closed the book and looked expectantly at Andro.

            "This…This is…"

            "Here," Freud said. He opened the diary again, handing it over. 

            "_This _might refresh your memory."

            Mutely, Andro began reading.

************

 _           Block left high, low right, strike right high, right low, left high-almost got through-block overhead, step to the left, start the cut low, bring it up, and OH, it's beautiful, he thumps to the ground at your feet, spilling red, red liquid out onto the dark asphalt..._

_            All too easy. And over too soon._

_            You spin round, transfigured into a thing of terror by the lurid red light. The next squad backs away, vainly trying to avoid total and utter annihilation. Dark blood splatters in an obscurely decorative pattern as you leap to kill again, stabbingstabbingstabbingstabbing more chaos death pain murder-_

************

            Andro didn't know quite how to respond to that. He'd had his thoughts read before, but this was the first time someone did it literally. Not that those were his exact thoughts at the time, mind you. He _had _been thinking of most of that stuff…But Andro had _also _been thinking about those chip packets he'd discarded. Still, it was a pretty creepy experience.

            "Did you see that, Doc?" 

            Freud nodded, shifting the chair closer. Briefly, an idea flashed in Andro's head. _Grab his arm, pull him to you, get his gun-_

Too late. The doctor had already sat back down.

            The experience got even creepier when Andro started flipping through the pages of the notebook. Each one was covered in _his_ handwriting, neatly printed letters covering the white paper like leprosy. Stopping somewhere near the middle, Andro read _another _passage…

************

_            Ryan chokes once, and appears to stop breathing.  You can see Zero advancing.  All hope's lost, Andro! _

_            A miracle. That's what you need. A miracle._

_            Let's face it. That isn't going to happen._

_            So, it comes right down to cold, hard logic. Either escape and let Ryan die or rush out there in a blaze of tragic heroism and die with him. The answer to that little equation is obvious, if not pretty. One dead is better than two, after all. But of course, it issn't quite that easy. _

_            You can't do that. Just turn your back and let them kill him? No way._

_            So, you took the only other option left to you._

_            You shoot him in the head. Then, you escape._

************

            "Now see," Andro said, "that's wrong. Ogion saved us that time. Hell, it doesn't even make any sense. If I killed Ryan then, how could he fight later? Besides, I _never _use a gun."

            "There are quite a lot of inconsistencies, actually," Freud replied. 

            "For instance, there's one part where you claim that a friend of yours gets his glasses broken, but after that..."

            Andro ignored him, and looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

            He wasn't falling for any of this tripe, was he? Of _course_ not. It was obviously a trick. The fact that they'd gotten a part wrong was proof of that.

            Of course, it could've been right, if Ogion hadn't shown up.

            He shook the thought out of his head. He wasn't going to get anywhere this way. But-

            Just one more bit. Andro just wanted to see how _else_ they screwed up.

************

            _Andro__ was in constant motion, climbing, running, leaping. He'd climbed to the rooftops, taking advantage of a convenient ladder to ascend. Far below, the last few squads swarmed round the base of the building, buzzing impotently like an entire hive of wingless bees. Their guns spat random tracers straight up, trying and failing to bring down the fleeing assassin._

_ Alistair was feeling pretty proud of himself. After a bit of fancy footwork, he'd left most of his attackers in the dust, right before he found a way up the building. Even better, he'd hauled the ladder up after him. No way they were getting to him from there, at least. All he had to worry about was the chopper overhead..._

_ -Wait a minute. A helicopter? Here?_

_ A mechanical locust of death, the assault chopper hovered just above the rooftops. Laden down with a wide variety of weaponry, it remained out of Andro's range, waiting for a target lock._

_ A group of killers, clad in the uniform of the SWAT, rappelled down from above. They blazed away as they went, filling the air with the angry hum of bullets. Andro almost missed the next jump, misjudging the distance. Frantically, his fingers scrabbled for a purchase on smooth rock. By the skin of his teeth, hanging on by his fingernails, Andro hauled himself up, biting back a scream of agony._

_ ***KA-BLAM*** _

_ Whether by accident or by malicious design, a bullet caught Andro in the hand. Bones shattered, crumpling the appendage like a wet paper bag. There was an incredible amount of blood and pain, once more slicking the bricks with red fluid._

_ Andro lost his grip. Stubbornly, slowly slipping back down, Andro clutched the edge with his good hand, face twisted in a rictus of agony. He would NOT give in! Not after all this! No way they would triumph over-_

_ -The second bullet, deliberately aimed, blew his right hand apart._

_ Andro fell. _

_ Terror gave way to ice-cold dread, a sickening pit of liquid mercury in his stomach. Strength gone, hands clawing at empty air, Andro fell, fell, fell-      _

_ He crashed through a hail of assorted debris on the way down, tearing through weak tin roofs, hanging laundry, a wide variety of garbage, before finally crunching into the unyielding ground. He lay there, wretchedly twisted, bones shattered. His heart flailed weakly in his chest, and his breathing began to slow._

_ He was dying._

            _And for the first time, for a long, terrible, mindless moment, all he felt was-_

_            -Not rage. Not fury._

_            Sheer, bowel-tightening panic._

************

            Okay, now this thing was pissing Andro off.

            He threw the book down hard and watched bounce on the floor, pages fanning in the air until it landed back down again, open.

            "It lied again. It didn't happen like that."

            Great. Now he getting emotional about this. That was bad. That was what they wanted. They knew he'd get like this. Get stupid, listen to them.

            Who were they again?

            "Alistair..."

            "Huh? Oh, sorry Dr. Freud."

            "Lim."

            "What?"

            "My name is Dr. Lim, not Freud."

            "Oh."

            "That's okay, Alistair." Lim picked the book back off the floor.

            "It didn't happen like that. God, I never _ever _thought that way in my life. And who wrote that crap in third person?"

            Lim said nothing.

            "It... didn't happen."

            "_None_ of it happened, Alistair."

            When Alistair looked up at Lim, he looked clear, far clearer than a second ago. He always thought that his vision was twenty-twenty, but it must've been a bit off, because nothing looked this clear before then.

            "The book does lie," he said. "It's _all_ lies. _None_ of it ever happened. You've been here the whole time. You never killed anyone in your life."

            "I have to go," Alistair realized suddenly. "I _have...to... get…**out**_."

            "Your friends are fine, Alistair. Nothing bad ever happened to anyone."

            Nothing...

            He was right. _What _had Alistair been thinking? The Awakened, girls with magic powers; that was crazy.

            "But Alistair, I need to ask a favour from you. The key to your condition... I'm convinced it lies in that book. But we can't read the earlier parts... It's the handwriting, you see? We... I need you to read it. Can you do that?"

            Yeah. Yeah, he could do that.

************

            _B__lood__ trickles from between Chan's fingers, as he struggles to support Ryan._

_            "Andro…He's bleeding like there's no tomorrow." _

_            "If this goes on, he not gonna have a tomorrow. Why're you complaining? We're carrying him, after all."_

_            You continue your desperate run, for many long minutes. Behind you, you hear explosions, and various rumbling noises. A blast of black light follows, one that washed over both of you harmlessly. Instinctively, you flinch. Risking a look back, you saw that the area right behind is now in ruins, as if a demolition crew has recently moved through. Even as you watched, unnatural fire strikes the far wall, burning on the solid stone. A ball of something strikes the ground with a wet, squelching noise, and melting into the ground._

_            Shuddering, you run even faster-_

************

            Alistair looked up from the handsome, leather-bound book on the podium and saw a room full of people staring back at him. There were maybe fifty of them, seated in folding chairs arranged in what might've passed off for a semi-circle, a look of attention on each of their faces. 

            "Do you need a glass of water, Mr. Gill?" asked Dr. Lim. He sat in a chair more or less next to him, facing the audience like Alistair did.

            "No. I... I'm fine," 

            "Cold feet, eh?" he whispered. "Don't worry, I can tell you that everyone's damn impressed by your work. Not _one_ of them has left so far."

            Alistair smiled back weakly and looked down at the crisp, black typeset.

            "'Try an earlier part," he said.

************

            "We were able to read that one."

            Alistair nodded and peeled back a handful of pages.

************

            "No, that's not far back enough."

************

            No. Farther.

************

            _Most people-_

************

            Farther.

************

_            "You guys su-"_

************

            Farther.

************

_            They dove-_

************

            …Farther…

************

_            It was a typically bright day in Tokyo Stadium-_

************

            FARTHER.

************

            She was dead. I'd killed her. Bang bang, just like that. She was...what, eleven?

            Easy there, Andro.

            But there was blood, everywhere. All over the alley, all over my shoes, all over my socks and her forehead with the big gaping hole and she'd jerked around like a wind-up toy on its back and she made sounds and

            Andro...

            She was just a little kid! I fucking killed a little kid! I blew her brains right out! I

            **ANDRO!!!**

            They were going to kill me. There were cops hiding, right behind the corner. They wanted to kill me. Just waiting for me to twitch

            **_Shut up!!!_**

            I...

            Look, Andro, no one's going to kill you. The cops don't give a shit about these kids, you know that. And even if they did, you're not going to get caught. You know why? Because you're going to make sure there aren't any witnesses. Because you're going to wipe the blood off your shoes and burn the rag.  Because you're going to act like a goddamn professional which is what you are now, okay?

            But... she was _eleven_...

            Remember her eyes? The way she looked at you when she shot those nasty little burning fireballs from her hands? That wasn't a self-defence look, buddy. Good thing you had that cop's gun in your hand, or she would've killed you too. 

            Like... I was a bug or something.

            Yeah, just like that. Now get moving before somebody sees you. 

************

            Alistair's heart nearly exploded, when he felt the hand clamp down on his shoulder. But it was only Lim. Good old Dr. Lim.

            "I'm sorry, Alistair. This still isn't far back enough yet."

************

            "Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

            The cartoon duck fell to the bottom of the screen, where that annoying dog picked it up and showed it off like _he'd_ done anything besides snitch. Alistair thought about shooting him for a bit, but then he flushed another one out real fast. Smart poochy.

            "Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

            He liked this game a lot. Besides the dog, that was. Too bad that didn't count for much in school. Ugh, that reminded Alistair, Mom would probably show up soon and start getting on his case about studying.

            "Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

            Ah, well. Pretending to read a math textbook for three or four hours wasn't really so bad. Better than the stack of projects still waiting somewhere inside his schoolbag, a festering pile of overdue assignments and homework-

            "Quack quack quack quack quack!"

            Darn it! He missed!

            "Hee hee hee hee hee!"

            Shut up, dog.

            *Click-clack*

            Oh great, Dad was home. He'd definitely have to stop playing now. Dad didn't want him to do anything fun. No worries about that…Alistair never did anything exciting. All he did was science projects…Sometimes.

            Alistair darkened the monitor screen, obscuring the game-in-progress. Dad showed up just when he turned

the little knob, heavy footsteps scrapping on the carpet. He turned around and- It _wasn't_ Dad after all.

            It was some guy wearing this stupid little hat, and a long coat that extended all the way to the floor. Alistair had never seen him before…Was he a member of the police or something?

            "Andro," he said. He sounded _kinda_ like James Bond.

            "Yeah, mister?"

            "Oh, for the love of…Andro, you're _not_ a kid."

            He was right. What the hell was he doing?

            Andro got up and took a look around the room. Blue shag carpet, yellowish- whitish walls, a cheap wooden table with the computer on it and that goddamn couch with the broken springs. He'd never even _seen _this damn place before…Where was he? Vaguely, Andro rubbed his forehead, disorientated. A splitting headache was coming on, bow waves of agony reverberating through his skull.

            So this was what, a meticulously crafted set? Not likely. Even the most obsessed designer would probably miss that stain on the ceiling. 

            A dream?  Maybe. Maybe not. 

            That thought seemed incredibly hard to hold onto, drifting away like spiderwebs on the wind. Andro felt his mind fragmenting, like the time he'd been falling-

            "Oh, God. **_Requiem._**"

           "Ah." He dropped the English accent. "Now _that's _the Andro I know. Or at least, the one _Chan _knows. By the way, how did you guess?"

            Andro sighed, and sat down on the coach. Fatigue was catching up with him: He couldn't seem to focus on anything for long. Normally, he would've felt fear at the mere thought of the Stand's presence…Now, all Andro could muster up was a half-hearted resignation. The noise of blood throbbing through the veins in his head grew uncomfortably loud, a ball-peen hammer smashing onto a glass table again and again and-

            "Who _else _could it be?" 

            Another disturbing thought crystallized with painful clarity, a sudden shock

            "**_Wait. _**When I hit the floor…I died, didn't I."  
            "…"

            "I distinctively remember dying. The impact couldn't have been anything else."

             Nightmarish images flitted through the recesses of what Andro had left for a brain: An assassin, fighting, killing dying-   Requiem scowled and leaned against the doorframe.

            "Don't go blaming me," he said. "_I _didn't have anything to do with this."

            The pain was unbearable now, a red-hot needle of sheer vindictiveness boring into Andro's skull. Invisible tendrils, strong and clean, grasped at his mind, pressing into the grooves, squeezing the plump bits.

            "Sure you didn't..._Mr Demon."_

            Puzzlement.

            "Who? What does this have to do with anything?"

            "Never mind. Go on."

            Requiem shook his head.

            "You really don't remember, do you?"

            "Yeah, I must be going senile in my old age. Better speak up, I think I lost my hearing aid."

            "**_ZERO._** You still know who that is? Or are you too far gone already?"

            A light bulb above Andro's head made a valiant effort to turn itself on before it graciously accepted the death of its filament. 

            "Maybe."

            "Try a little harder, will you?"

            There was something. The word "Zero" stuck out of his brain like the tag on a pillowcase, but no matter how much Andro tugged on it, nothing was pulling loose. Finally, he gave up on it, and started to just claw slapdash through his grey matter, pulling up anything he could find and throwing it in a big pile on the floor. Nothing but useless trivia and

hollow memories. 

            Cars, ice cream flavors, old TV jingles, traumatizing instances of childhood incontinence, computer games, golf lessons, guitar lessons, TV shows, old dates, dead friends-

            A shadow, like a skyscraper with shoulders.

            "Wait..." Andro waved a hand at Requiem, and kneaded his forehead with the other.

             "Big guy, right?"

            "Well 'guy' isn't exactly the word I'd use, but 'big', yes. Big, practically unstoppable, no sense of tact... getting anything yet?"

            "Um, sorta..." Andro lied. "What about him?"

            "Didn't he say something to you? I think it was along the lines of,

**_            'THEREFORE,_**

            Soldiers looking like Swiss cheese meets fillet mignon.

**_            I INTEND_**

            Kula smiling, something nasty in her eyes.

**_            TO DESTROY YOUR MIND,_**

            A voice like rakes on concrete.

**_            AND LEAVE_**

            The magical girl dead.

            **_YOUR BODY _**

            Alvin, dead. Somehow, he _knew._

            **_A VEGETABLE_**        

            Yiming dead, hacked to pieces.

            **_ALIVE_**

            Control. Over everything.

**_            BUT UNABLE TO THINK,_**

            Fire pain evil.

**_            TO ACT-_**

            Blood.

**_            TO MOVE._**

            "Fuck."

            The shadow was illuminated now. And the light was coming from where it's head should have been.

            Requiem smiled, and tipped his hat in mock salute.

            "It sounds like your **_excellent_** powers of deduction have triumphed again," he said.

             "Anyhow, as I don't doubt you've already guessed, Zero has been doing **_exactly_** what he said he would. He played the tune, and you danced perfectly. As it stands now, you're just a few pirouettes away from becoming the international staring and drooling champion of the world."

            And he had to be cute about it too. Andro did his best not to let the pain show when the couch's springs gave him their rusty welcome. He could barely hear his own words now, vision contracting to a slitted tunnel, 

            "But it's a _damn good thing_ my best buddy **_WORLD-EATER REQUIEM_** came to the rescue just in time, huh?"

            See? Even in agony, he made a point of being pleasant.

            "I have my own agenda for helping you, of course."

            "Sure you do. You people _alway_s do. It's just that it tends not to spell anything real nice for me in the end, y'know?" 

            Andro carefully removed myself from the Torture Couch and slid to the floor.

            "Frankly, I think I'm better off with the all-powerful bringer of brain damage. At least he's honest."

            Requiem knelt down, sticking his face a few centimetres closer than psychologically comfortable. His breath smelled of rancid meat, impossibly sharp canines seemingly too large to fit into his mouth. 

            "Just what do you **_think_**  is going to happen?" he asked. "After Zero destroys you, I mean. Do you think it'll end there? Everything hunky-dory?  Not on what little remains of your life. He's going for the kill this time, Zero is. As soon as you go down, people like me will be the first up against the wall. Your mindless corpse gets reprogrammed, and you'll serve NESTS as a zombified hitman."

            "How **_unfortunate_** for you," Andro sneered. "Get behind me, Satan. Run back to Chan, if you want. Why aren't you with him right? **_Why the hell are you here?_**"

            Silence. Requiem drew back. He actually looked…Sheepish.

            "Well, that's a _bit _hard to explain. See, Chan summoned me to fight, the way he always did. Then something _snapped. _I went free. Of course, a Stand can't survive without a wielder…Not for long, anyway."

            "That doesn't explain why you're in my mind."

            "**_You _**called me. Just after you hit the ground, I dove in, and-"

            Requiem shrugged.

            "Ah."

            Andro didn't understand a single word.

            "Don't get me wrong, Andro. I don't like you. But I like dying even less. So here's my proposal: I let you know how you can get out of this with your synapses intact, and you... ah, **_'forget_**' about any problems I may have caused you in the past."

            He smiled, all candy and sunshine.

            "Like trying to drive me insane, just now?"

            "Yep."

            "I'll think about it."

            Requiem got up and looked down at Andro. The smile left his face, his eyes like frozen marbles now.

            "You won't have very much time for that."

            Hooo boy. 

            Andro studied his thumbs. Looked like he was in a _real_ pickle this time. Trusting Requiem would be beyond stupid. Even if you ignored the fact that he was simply a fragment of evil incarnate, there was the fact that he used to _be_ Chan, which just threw any claims of honesty out the window. The alternative, of course, wasn't much prettier.

            Sometimes, Andro really missed the days when he could solve problems by knifing people.

            "Okay," Andro said, "Let's hear what you got."

            "I'd be delighted."

            He offered his hand, took it away, and shrugged when Andro got up by himself.

            "Truth be told, you've had the power to save yourself all along."

            "So I never really needed you then?"

            "Too late to renege now." Requiem chuckled. He was really enjoying this. 

            "Anyhow, your problem is that you haven't been realizing your full potential. _You are **not **Awakened. _ You thought you were, but you didn't truly identify yourself with what you are. You still see yourself as 'Andro'. 'Andro' with unbelievable powers perhaps, but Andro, nevertheless. "

            "Maybe that's because I _am_ Andro?"

            "No, you're not. Look, I'm sure you've already fingered your human brain as a drawback to your powers, but what you must realize is that the drawback only exists _within_ your own mind. You think that because your power is incarnate as your body, that it is something separate from you. That is something that must be controlled by the mind. But your Awakened soul is just as much you as your mind is. Until you realise that, you will _never _attain the powers that could-_should _be yours."

            "So you're saying…What, exactly? I should let _you_ do the walking?"

            "In a manner of speaking." He smiled again. "Look, what we have to do is to get you to convince yourself of what you _can _do, which it limitless. Start by closing your eyes."

            Andro closed them.

            "Now, breathe deeply..."

            "This is going to be like one of those _'meditation exercises'_, isn't it?"

            "Sort of."

            "I hate those."

            "I know. Concentrate on your breath..."

            "Requiem?"

            "Yes?" Did Andro detect a hint of impatience in that voice?

            "If you're lying to me, I'll make sure your death is very, very painful."

            "I'll bear that in mind. Now breathe already! Yes, very good. Now I want you to pay attention to your body. To every minor ache, every itch, anything it's feeling..."

            Requiem's voice droned on and on. Most of his commands were exactly like those stupid meditation exercises. Although they went a lot slower than he did. Eventually, Andro just stopped trying to keep up with him and did followed

whatever he could.

            It began subtly at first, a warping of the surroundings. Andro could feel a sense of _shifting, _of motion somewhere else in the room. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids suddenly seemed to weigh a million tons. Disorientated, Andro concentrated on trying to keep his feet, something that suddenly seemed impossibly difficult.

            He couldn't remember when he'd sat back down on the floor, but he was there now. It was getting very difficult to make out what Requiem was saying anymore.  His voice had grown too loud: It reverberated in Andro's ears like an army of tiny super-balls.

            The air began to warp and shimmer. The hairs on Andro's skin rose, fell, and rose again. Every finger, every limb twitched once in succession, like a computer running a system check.

            He was nowhere now, a small speck whirling in an endless void. There was no up, no down, no time. The walls of the room crumbled, toppling over like drunken members of a human pyramid. 

            _Blink._

************

            Andro could see it all now, the intricate tapestry of the world's magic. It spread out for infinity, a spinning galaxy of countless stars. Souls swam that trackless void, wispy ethereal forms twisting round the glowing strands of power. There was no beginning, no end to the wondrous pattern: He could only use meaningless words like vast, overwhelming…

            -And then it all snapped into place, as the universal truth slammed into his brain.

            Reality was a lie, a thin façade thrown over humanity's eyes. It was a self-woven shroud of illusion, comforting sanity against both the abyss of eternity and the ever-darkening night of oblivion. 

            The truth was magic.

            The grid surged up to meet Andro at incredible speed, stars elongating to needle-thin points of light. Abruptly, he realised it wasn't the _universe _that was rising: It was _he _who was falling. Panicked, Andro tried to fly, to teleport, to wake from a dream and be somewhere else. 

            His fall stopped.

            Hanging in emptiness, Andro drifted, hearing the voice of the universe boring into his mind.

**            _What do you want? _**

            Welcome to the story of Andro's life, deputy. Strap yourself in…It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

            What did he want? Well, they _asked, _after all.

            "I'm sick of stories where the good guys win," Andro spoke. The words resonated, sending vibrations of power running along the strings. 

            "I'm sick of hearing about how the right people always get killed, because they don't. I'm sick of the lies about happy

endings. There are no last-minute rescues, or kind strangers who'll lend a hand, or good women who don't want anything

from you. That's nothing but smoke and mirrors. Those are lies, and I'm _sick to death_ of lies."

            The strands glowed red-hot now, the malevolent glow of an evil star. 

            He paused.

            "I want a _new_ kind of story. I want a story that works out like real life, not this…This fucked-up anime world."

            Silence. Andro could feel the eyes of the universe watching him, waiting for his final decision.

            "I want to be on the winning side. Hell, I want to _be _the winning side, a minority of one. But most of all…"

            He grinned, viciously.

            "I want _payback._"

************

            _Chaos._             

            Painfiredeathkillkillbastardsthereissounds laughing that like him the fire walks sorry into a shape that has a hat that "asshole" Requiem! Fucker that bastard fucking. Tongue lots of teeth pitchfork That am fucker!  That "void" Remain in "Stabilize him" her eyes in light the shape forcing it fire to "Going on?" look something in head. Fleshy amoeba pitchfork thing "Stop" across and eyes scattered melted the surface drifting screams "don't" bleeds stuck  Paint legs "Yes!" like stars "Okay." edge is a there on Thing is "already" fire eyes drifting apart hand is over there what-

            And suddenly, it was all over.

            Very, very slowly, Andro opened his eyes. He rose to his feet slowly, deliberately, as if fearful of shattering the world around him. Something was different- The assassin could _feel _it in his very bones, a startling revelation. Everything seemed bright and beautiful in its uniqueness, their auras resonating in calm harmony. The spirit wind whispered secrets to him, like-

            -Minds. They were all minds. They spoke to him. Oracles, perhaps, or merely a village of loudmouths. But all were alive in him, a crowd. In their midst, one voice spoke clearer, sharper than all the rest. A _thing's _voice, oozing infinite evil, glacial slow and smug.

            The voice of Requiem.

            So. Requiem _had _kept his promise. Andro had Awakened- But not as a magician. He had come into his power as something darker, a warrior tainted from conception both by word and the will.

            What was the word for a deviant?

            Wayward?

            As good a name as any.

            Andro straightened. He felt light-headed, yet somehow full…Burgeoning. There were essences within him, the duality of natures that came to all Stand-wielders. Andro sensed Requiem in his head, and Mr. Demon in his heart, two demons working against each other in competition. He felt the flow of power from the endless ocean of souls, and the hundred thousand words of magic.

            The place was crowded, now. Anywhere was crowded now, Andro knew, with the clamour that would echo forever through his mind. Still, he wanted to leave, to get a breath of fresh air. It was a strange concept, walking away from your own thoughts.

            Stranger still, Andro managed it. He made a space within himself, a place where nothing and no-one could reach. 

            Without a glance back, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

            Space folded into a little origami bird.  Time ran backwards.  Calendar pages whipped forwards, then backwards. 

Funny green lights swirled around while cheesy music played and a 'now loading' indicator flashed. Reality ran off and cried in

a corner after some bully took its lunch money...

            _Click. _

************

             Agent Stevens watched the video screens, smiling tightly.

            "Alpha waves are in synch," he stated. "What do you say, Tomoko? Fifty says we can break him in an hour."

            Tomoko walked around the assassin strapped to the table. His entire head enclosed in an elaborate VR rig, Andro was functionally catatonic, blind to the world.

            _Somewhere in his own mind, Andro watched them, laughing silently._

            "I don't know," Tomoko stated. "We'll see. He'll snap sooner or later…_Then _we'll turn him over to Zero. Wonder what they want with the mindless body?"

            A sigh.

            "Ours not to reason why."

_            They didn't know. They couldn't, the poor bastards. All he had to do was to wait, oh yes, wait for the right moment.  _

"Stevens, take a look at this," Tomoko said, frowning at the monitor.

            "What? It's all normal. _And _it looks like it took less than an hour. Fifty, wasn't it?"

            _Then there would truly be hell to pay._

"But the _readings._They spiked for a moment before they fell."

"So? You've been working too hard. We got him, didn't we?"__

_            Until then…_

Tomoko smiled, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You're right…I'm just tired. Let's start up the paperwork, and get out of here. Dinner's on you tonight." 

_            …It was time to play along._

The lab door swung shut silently, aided by efficient servos. Only the prisoner remained, still seemingly unconscious.

            _Seated there, alone in the shadowed, silent hall, Andro contemplated his dark and bloody future._

_            He smiled. _

(Sorry to take so long for this chapter…Initially, the first draft of 'The Wayward' was _way _too violent. Several pre-readers almost turned nauseous when checking it. So, this version has been toned down slightly, while hopefully retaining the spirit of this chapter. Now, it's back to the main group…See you again next time. And until then, please R&R. Bye!)


	16. Tempest

**Chapter 17: Tempest**

(Author's Note: This chapter kicks the story into high gear. _Tempest_ turns the cinematic clock forward twenty-minutes and levels the playing field, in a bad way. Really bad. To get the idea for the background, imagine a large hospital in the middle of a city, in the dead of the night. Then add in ominous shadows, drawing closer and closer toward the oasis of light…

It's good to be back.)

General Hospital, 2 A.M.:

Quiet noise. It's not a contradiction; noise is unwanted, distracting sounds that make little sense. Quiet means quiet.

In the hospital, there's plenty of quiet noise. The light beeps of machines keeping track of breath rates and pulses, the mumbling chatter of doctors, the clack of clipboards being hung on pegs. The hissing of air hoses, the buzzing of overhead fluorescent lights. Every now and then, an announcement over the PA like 'Paging doctor so and so' cuts through the noise to be understandable... but since 99.99 of the people in the hospital are not doctor so and so, it becomes meaningless noise to them.

Still, the quiet is almost tangible. There's a kind of unpleasant silence in the air... serious matters are afoot in a hospital. Life and death are matters of daily concern. The mild beeping of machines is intimidating to visitors, since you don't want to make sounds above that level for fear of drowning out some little beep which translates to 'help needed immediately.'

No matter how comfortable the beds are, no matter how many pillows are behind your head or how clean the sheets are, it's impossible to be comfortable there. The visitor chairs are padded leather, but if you're sitting at someone's bedside, you will not be comfortable. It's not a place where emotional comfort is available in vast amounts.

In this quietly noisy atmosphere, Jiazheng was lying down. Not resting, not sleeping, just lying down.

He'd been lying down in this bed for close to twenty-four hours now, but nobody was sure if he was awake or asleep.

Tubes fed fresh blood into his arms after the previous day's blood loss. Nutrients and fluids were piped in by a rubber tube coiled around and taped against his arm, ending in a needle-like rubber tube up a vein. Bandages covered Jiazheng's chest and stomach, also lining his neck thick enough to resemble a plaster neck brace from afar. They had stopped showing signs of red seepage hours ago, and now were simply there to aid in the clotting processes.

There were two sections in the 'Nursery', one for the sleeping inhabitants and the other for the visitors. This was specially for the new process cryogenic regeneration: Once a patient was in, he was in for a long time. It took a while to put a patient on ice, and a while to resuscitate him, but in the meantime they could heal weeks of bed rest in days.

It was a creepy place, all right: Nothing but rows and rows of coffins, each of then trailing a dozen cables and wires leading to a central unit that dispensed whatever unholy crap they pumped into these things. Technicians usually sat at scanning stations around the edge of the room, watching the sleepers' biometric readings for the signs of necrosis the way housewives watched soap operas. Nobody talked: All you heard was the pinging of the scanners, and the hum of the machinery.

That wasn't the worst part, though. Each coffin had a window, a faceplate so you could look in and see how the sleeper was doing, mummified in his pool of suspension fluid. Chan had looked in on Jiazheng's. The swordsman's eyes had been left open, and he knew, just _knew _that Jiazheng was seeing something that real live people ought not to see.

A month or so with your eyes open, staring, unblinking. The thought still gave Chan nightmares.

-------------

They'd never told him about the dreams.

It'd seemed so simple, during training: Close your eyes, concentrate. Reach deep within yourself to that 'perfect place'…And come round five hours later, spiritual batteries fully recharged. The part in between was a bit spooky, though: The visions and all that biofeedback crap. He'd come out of the trance momentarily disorientated, unsure of where, when or even _who_ he was.

The worst part, of course, was that he never knew he was dreaming. He went under knowing what was about to happen, calm and cool, but somehow the process of slipping away peeled the thought from his mind, so that when it started, everything seemed real. Afterward, when he awoke screaming, starting out from his trance, the knowledge returned again.

Only a dream…

"Only."

The dreams were always the same, yet always different. They were built around confinement, conflict, torment, torture, and always, horrendous pain. The setting always changed, though. A torture cell. Solitary confinement. A horde of rabid devil rats. A car wreck.

It didn't take a shrink to figure out that his subconscious _really _didn't like this shit.

Chan shook off the last of his dream (A particularly sadistic one, where slavering zombies had eaten him alive) rose from seiza position, letting dim light filter in through half-lidded eyelids. Lying in his coffin- uh, 'cradle', as the medical staff called it, Jiazheng seemingly already dead, just waiting to be buried. As always, Jiazheng's sword was leaning against the glass, radiating wave after wave of intense cold. Looking at it, Chan hesitated, remembering-

_"I'm sorry sir, but your friend...well..."_

_The doctor shifted uneasily. What he was about to say clashing with, apparently, every instinct he learned in med school and a basic honesty he couldn't squelch._

_"You might want to bring in a...a..." he coughed. "Spiritualist."_

_"What? You really think...there's something MAGICAL wrong with him?" Chan asked, voice calm and composed. _

_The doctor winced at the word "magic" and said hastily "No no! Of course not! But ah, to be truthful..."_

_"You don't **know** why he's in a coma?"_

_"It's not just that." He fiddled with a chart. "His possessions are-they're actually a bit...it's odd but... that **SWORD** of his. It always seems to find its way back to his room no matter **WHERE** we put it! And it's so cold...of course I really wouldn't recommend moving him from the hospital but perhaps asking a priest to come in...Just in case..."_

The damn sword. It hadn't been with him when they'd brought him in; It'd just turned up during the night. And now, it was impossible to separate him from it.

Chan took a deep breath, hoisting himself from the hard couch provided for those who wanted to look in on the patients. Looking left and right, making sure that there wasn't anyone else in the room, Chan checked his watch. 2 A.M. : The perfect time for some extracurricular activity.

Now, this was a specialized branch, meant for dealing specifically for dealing with people who required serious rejuvenation…And _fast. _They used state-of-the-art equipment, particularly sleeper cradles and _really _intensive regimes of drugs and treatments speed up the healing rate, meaning that patients often came out in several weeks, tops.

Yes, it was expensive. _Damn _expensive. But worth it.

Chan looked at the steel-and-glass cradle holding Jiazheng's body. The kid looked peaceful: Another irony. Everything appeared to be functioning properly, the techs busy with their routine, trying to finish up before heading off for some sleep. He grimaced, trying not to let that image occupy his thoughts.

A voice in his ear made Chan jump. "Worried, Chan? That's not like you."

The mage whipped around, forcing a smile and a light voice. "Morning, Karmen. How ya doing?"

"Have you seen Ryan around today?" Karmen asked, fiddling with her ponytail. Dressed in street clothes, she looked nervous, on edge: Considering that the former Cartel Team was now on the run, it was understandable. She was already taking a risk turning up at the hospital albeit and unavoidable one: Someone had to keep an eye on the proceedings, to prevent someone from setting up an 'accident'.

"I'm fine," Chan answered irritably. "Thanks for asking."

Karmen's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I _am _sorry, Chan. Didn't mean to bruise your tender feelings. I thought we knew each other well enough to dispense with meaningless platitudes." She softened a bit, actually looking sympathetic. "I know _exactly _how you feel when you've just come out."

Chan sighed. "Sorry, Karmen. It was a bad one. No, I haven't seen Ryan anywhere today…In fact, I haven't seen him much at all." Ryan spent much of his time online or outside now, on some personal project. Well, at least he was looking happier than usual…

Her detachment wavered.

"If you do, let him know I need to see him, will you?"

"Of course." He paused. "Not going to party?"

"No. Something's not right…I'm calling in Yiming and Claire. For support."

"What's up?"

"Not sure. Just wanted to warn you, though. Keep your eyes open."

He looked at her, puzzled. "Why? What for?"

Karmen shook her head. "There's a…No, don't worry about that. Look, I've got a bad feeling about today. A very bad feeling."

Chan nodded, a grim expression painting his face. Karmen wasn't easily spooked when it came to vibes, and she had a rep for accurate hints about things to come. "'kay. Thanks."

"Look after yourself, Chan."

"You too, Karmen."

She smiled, a mirthless grimace. "Rely on it."

------------

Inside the hospital, an orderly picked up a telephone, dialing a number unlisted on any hospital's directories.

"Five minutes."

A voice on the other end of the line answered, "Done."

-------------

Just outside, ablack van pulled up on the pavement, right in front of the building. Another followed.

The doors opened, and three men got out of the cars and walked into the building, hands concealed under long black dusters. Mirrorshades shielded their faces, the wire of a short-range transmitter protruding from their ears. They looked like radio-controlled toys, aerials waving overhead as they walked, heedless of the cold.

In the lobby, one man walked straight up to the security desk, stationed at a T where the east and west corridors met. Behind the desk were two elevator doors.

"Name, please?" The security guard asked.

The new arrival drew an automatic Beeman P-08 with a long webbed silencer from under his coat and slammed it across the guard's forehead. The _crack _of the blow echoed through the empty marble-floored hallway. The guard slumped forward, unconscious, his head split and bleeding. He lookedas if he were napping, fast asleep across the counter.

The other men checked both corridors as the indicators above elevator doors spun downward. One bell rang as the elevator reached the lobby level. The two men froze in their tracks, their guns poised to shoot.

The door opened and a couple, obviously visitors, got out. The woman was dressed in a blue dress, eyes swollen and red. She sniffed once, bravely, before seeing the guard bleeding his post.

"Darryl-_sama_," she whispered, clutching the arm of the man with her.

It was all she had time to say before she too was clubbed across the skull. Reflexively, her mouth opened and closed like a fish's as her legs buckled beneath her.

Her companion wasted no time on sympathy. He plucked her convulsive fingers off her sleeve and bolted for the front door and nearly made it to the rubber mat at the entrance before one of the men caught up with him, pounding him to the floor with powerful blows to the head.

The entire altercation had taken less than a minute: Swift, quiet, and deadly. Oozing professionalism, the point man ducked into the elevator, leaving his two teammates to cover the entrance. There was the sound of many, _many _engines as more vehicles drove onto the scene.

The assault on the hospital had begun.

------------

The door to the Archives was locked. Chan looked up and down the corridor, but no-one was around. Technicians had installed cameras all around the floor, but they weren't running yet: The monitors had yet to be replaced.

Typical.

He centered his thoughts, clamping the flow of mental chatter shut. Concentrating., Chan dug his fingers into the cracks of the universe-

-And vanished. There was a moment of extreme cold as Chan warped through the door, body lightening and scattering. There was an unpleasant sensation of dissipation, and a moment's panic that he might just disintegrate completely…

…But his form held. It always did.

He rematerialized inside, passing through the wooden door with a peculiar sensation that stung his face, and left his insides feeling…weird. Shivering, the magician conjured a small sphere of witchfire to illuminate the place, leaving it floating above his open palm.

Once inside, Chan ignored the shelves of paper files and went straight to the computer system, hoping that they hadn't changed the password in the two days since he'd stolen it. He thought about Ogion, the thing he'd become and the helpless fury it ignited within him. He thought about Alvin, dead now and lost to Oblivion forever. The memories wrapped him like an acid blanket, comforting in their scalding intensity.

The computer was a pathetic obstacle, and Chan was going to break through it, find out who was responsible for their misery. Linked to the central network, he could, in theory, search for the presence of any recovering NESTS operatives, find them and crucify them.

He took a purposeful step forward-

A metallic creak grabbed his attention. Chan spun, realizing that someone else had beaten him here.

"Being naughty, Chan?"

There was a ripple, then a shimmer in the air as a shape took form. Despite the dimness, Chan easily recognized the speaker…Ryan, Adept extraordinaire.

The magician bristled. "No, of course not. I was…That is…Hey, what the hell are _you _doing in here, Ryan?"

"Ah, stow it." Ryan flashed a smug grin, instantly annoying Chan. "I'm not telling anyone you were in here. Trying the computer?"

"Yeah."

"There's no point bothering with that computer, anyway. It's just got dull crap on it…form letters, templates, holiday notes and all that secretarial bullshit."

Chan sighed, the anger evaporating like mist.

"Crap."

The lights crackled, and the booting computer winked out. The hard disk ground to an extremely unhealthy-sounding halt, prompting Chan to give Ryan a suspicious stare.

"Are you playing games?"

"Nope." He shook his head, sounding serious for the first time.

Chan shrugged. "That's okay. Must've been a spike in the mains."

Ryan, however, looked worried. "That computer is running off an uninterrupted power feed. I felt it earlier."

"You mean it crashed."

"They don't crash like that. Something's wrong."

"Like a virus, you mean?"

"Possibly, but the machine was _still booting up. _Something screwy's happening in the electronics."

The first hints of shapeless fear pried at the edges of Chan's attention, but he fought them down. He peered at Ryan nervously. "It's just admin, right? The wards are gonna be okay?"

"Different circuits…" Ryan trailed off. "Do you hear something?"

Chan listened for several seconds, but couldn't make out anything unusual.

"There. Did you hear that?"

He shook his head, concerned. "Maybe it's the party…"

"Not unless they're dancing to gunshots," Ryan said, heading quickly for the door. "Come on, Chan."

"Where're we going?"

"Where do you think? To find out what's going on."

Ryan was about to open the door when the lock clicked loud, a hidden deadbolt sliding into place. More doors clicked in the hallway.

"It's lockdown! They're locking the hospital down!"

The Mage Cannon left its holster, charging up with a rising whine. Chan leveled the gun at the door, chambering an explosive round.

"Stand back."

_CRUMP._

The door exploded off its hinges, huge slab of wood shattered into a mist of gobbets and whirling fragments. They burst through the rain of coarse material, already running. The wail of alarms filled the corridors, dueling klaxons battling for attention. The chatter of automatic gunfire echoed everywhere from the wards upstairs to the surrounding labs. Ryan cursed savagely, starting toward the sound. Hesitating, looking back for a moment, Chan followed.

The lab-tech area consisted of a large open-plan room with a ring of surrounding labs housing more than thirty techs and scientists at any one time. Desks and computer terminals nested in little clusters, punctuated by bland plants, water-coolers and filing cabinets.

Today, it was a slaughterhouse. An orderly- a small, vaguely familiar man in a white smock- stalked round the enclosure, armed with a SMG Chan recognized as something security carried. A least a dozen people around him were dead or dying, horribly shot up. Blood pumped from wounds, soaking through clothes or spurting from torn, ragged holes in faces and necks-

-The smell mingled horribly with the inescapable stench of anesthetic and cleaning fluid that made Chan want to retch. His head swam, gut twisting with nausea and horror.

The remaining techs cowered behind any cover they could find- desks, chairs, cabinets, workstations…Even each other. Some had tried escaping through the glass doors, their crumpled bodies testimony to their failed attempts. The gunman closed in on a small knot of people off to one side, weapon at the ready, barely noticing the entrance of the Awakened.

Suddenly, the alarms whined and died, lights replaced with dim red emergency lighting. Ryan growled and walked toward a couple of people hiding behind a desk, entering the maze of glass walls. He ignited in midstep, blue wreaths of lightning bursting from his flesh.

Chan left Ryan to it. He didn't need to stop and think to summon the fury, sheer outrage at the senseless carnage alone electrifying him. The gunman spun to face him, even as Chan got off his first spell.

A tangible wall of force snapped into existence directly ahead of him, just in time to take the impact from the first burst of gunfire. Chan's magical missile hit the man like a sledgehammer, hurling his body into a pile of chairs. The SMG clattered to the ground, rotating like a child's spinner in a game. The mage took a step forward, bent to pick it up-

-A furious wall of noise smashed into him from behind, driving sound spikes into his back. It was a screech of concentrated insanity, a whirlwind of howling, snarling pain. It tore into him like fangs, shredding his essence. _It was the dream again, the zombies carving scraps off his bones in an impossible frenzy of cannibalistic gluttony-_

Thought fled. Only the agony of the mad shriek bit into him. Chan felt his soul eroding, mote by agonizing mote, blown away on the whirling storm, flensing spirit from flesh. He tried to fight, to lash out, but there was only the pain- and deep, deep down, a peculiar sense of relief…

The world flashed blue, and the wailing stopped, replaced by a hoarse but harmless scream. He was on all fours, fighting for breath, coughing and choking. There was another flash, and Chan realized it was the same color as Ryan's bolts. Time passed- Days, months, eons- and then, the pain was gone.

Ryan was bending over him, obviously concerned. "You all right, dude?"

"N-no." Chan got up, feeling a thousand years older. There wasn't a mark on him; the attack had shredded his soul, not his flesh. "I think…I think I'll live, though. What the hell was that?"

"I don't know. There were two of them…Coming through the wall, the fuckin' _wall- _I got the drop on one, blasted him. By that time, the second one had you. I blasted him while he was concentrating on you, but he split too."

The world was still spinning crazily, an off-balance merry-go-round in a house of mirrors. Still trying to reassemble his shattered thoughts, Chan braced himself against a wall, remembering how to breathe. Across the room, fear had given way to shocked panic: People were flooding out the room in a free flow of unhinged terror, shoving and trampling each other in their rush to get away.

"What? Who?"

_Through the wall?_

"Monsters." The Adept was white-faced, pale. "A whole _heap_ of the fucking things. Real ugly ones, made out of knotted bundles of slimy rope, with these horrible funnel mouths on the ends of long trunks. Claws everywhere. Chan, they _weren't human! **What the hell were they?!"**_

"NESTS," Chan rasped, more messed up than he'd thought. "It _has _to be them, Ryan. Nothing else made sense."

A horrible thought struck him.

"Jiazheng. The cradles…We have to defend the cradles!"

"I don't see any more goons popping out of the woodwork."

"Not here. In the rest of the building…Look at the lights."

Ryan flinched, startled. "All right, we'd better get there…_fast. _Can you walk?"

After a momentary bout of clumsiness, the world felt slightly firmer again as healing magic did its work, shoring up the remnants of Chan's defenses. "I think so."

"Good." There was a dull thump from somewhere else in the building, a low, heavy sound that shook the ground. Ryan looked even more nervous now, dancing from foot to foot. "Can you run?"

Chan eyed him, uncertain.

"That was an explosion."

"Oh, _shit._"

Ryan looked back. "Sorry, buddy. Meet me back there."

He vanished, teleporting away in a spray of water. Chan dashed for the door, tottering slightly on wobbly legs. The fury was back, hotter and harder than ever, and this time seasoned with a big pinch of pure fear. He sprinted through the office and down the corridor, trying to force himself to run faster.

_Jiazheng. _Yeah, his body was shielded by several inches of reinforced steel, but Chan didn't know how long it was going to take to thaw him out. An hour? Two? Thirty minutes would be too long. Turning a corner as fast as his still-shaky legs allowed, he made a conscious effort to steel his will, thinking about how much he owed the kid. A fresh strength flowed into Chan as he pulled himself together, shoring up his own belief-

-He stopped dead. The corridor led to the cryogenics ward, ten yards away- The doors, however, were broken and twisted within the doorframe, barely large enough for him to squeeze through.

"He's not dead yet," Chan breathed, repeating it like a mantra. Beyond the ruined doors, someone cried out in pain. Sucking in a deep breath he didn't need, then sighed heavily and stepped into the room openly, shaking his head.

It was _bad. _Something, or rather someone (judging from the bits of human remains scattered about the room), had detonated in here. Chan stood in the blast's epicenter, judging by the scorching on the ground. Three sleepers were _very _dead- gaping wounds where their innards seeped out, shrapnel wounds cut to the bone, limbs scattered across the room.

Jiazheng was lucky, (and miraculously awake) though his cries of pain would claim otherwise. The explosion was far enough away from him that it merely flung his cradle up against the wall, shattering it and pitching him out. His neck bled and one leg was bent up sideways at a bad angle, but he was alive. The medical staff, however, was all dead, riddled with a generous helping of bullet holes.

"You stupid bastard," Karmen said, standing up from behind a chair. She looked angry, upset, dangerous, clothes and face scorched and sooty. "Quiet never means safe. _Never. _I could've had you before you'd even known what happened."

"What _did _happen, Karmen?" Chan kept his voice patient and sympathetic.

"She'd already killed the support teams when I got here," she said, almost muttering in shock. "Took out the doctors, the nurses, the patients…She was about to slot Jiazheng too. I managed to drag her off, but whoever was riding her jumped out. I dispersed just in time but she…_exploded_…"

"Who?"

"The nametag said 'Eiko.'."

"_Eiko _Shinguuji? The _nurse_?"

Karmen nodded.

Jiazheng managed to get to his feet, braced himself against a wall. The sword was propped against his leg, as if contact could help the regeneration process.

"Thank _God _they were already taking me out of the coffin. Otherwise…"

Of course. Chan could've slapped himself for being so stupid: The treatment plan he'd bought included a daily anti-necrosis treatment, where doctors brought the subject out for the battery of exercises and drugs, preventing both muscle wasting and atrophy. They'd started the revivification process just in time, then.

Another unpleasant thought made itself known, slicing through the fog of fear that'd drowned his brain.

"More passengers."

Both looked at him. "More?"

"A tech in the labs…He was one of them too."

Karmen looked truly horrified now. "Please, God…Don't tell me it's happening everywhere else?"

Chan returned the question with an unhappy, miserable stare. "Sorry, Karmen. I think they're everywhere."

"We've got to save-" She paused, uncertainty washing over her face.

A floating sphere of flickering electricity drifted through the walls. Chan and Karmen sprang back warily, while Jiazheng held his breath, clutching his only weapon. Ryan appeared in a burst of water, coalescing out of air and vapor.

The swordsman exhaled, pushing all the fear out of the moment. "Jesus, Ryan. You scared the hell out of me."

Ryan ignored the comment, shaking himself like a dog. He looked over at the three of them.

"It's over. We have to leave now."

Chan narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "What's happening?"

"Everyone's dead…Security's totally destroyed. There're corpses everywhere, and those damn things dragging their _souls _out of their bodies…" He broke off, shuddered. "I'm telling you, it's over. We _have _to get out of here. They're all over the place."

Karmen growled, something inhuman in her tine. Jiazheng just stared in confusion and disbelief.

"Who? You ain't making any sense, dude."   
"You mean 'what'," Chan cut in. He drew the Mage Cannon, snapping the safety off in a smooth motion. "You've been out of the loop too long, Jiazheng. Ryan? Tell him."

"We mean _demons, _all right? Things that aren't _human_. Understand? One almost got Chan just outside-"

"My leg," Jiazheng said, almost whimpering.

"Oh shit, Jiazheng. I'm sorry. Maybe you'll get lucky. They might leave this room alone-"

_No way. _"We're taking him with us." No way was he leaving another friend behind. No way in hell. Chan looked at Jiazheng's leg, sucked in a breath. It wasn't really broken…Just twisted out of alignment. He didn't have any idea how to fix it, though.

"Uh…"

Karmen pushed him aside, crouched down.

"I can pull that straight, immobilize it or something. It'll hurt like hell, but it's your only shot at staying intact."

Jiazheng grimaced.

"Do it."

"Right." The girl took hold of the limb, twisted it back with an audible _click_. Jiazheng's face went white, as he bit down a scream, managing to cut it down to a pained whimper. Ryan opened his mouth to say something-

-And reality itself fractured.

-------------

Scent. Faint. Taste the air. Somewhere? Near?

Crouch low. Sniff carpet. Yes. Scent. Lick lips. Blood taste. _Growl, growl. _Look. Looking. Door. Go through door. Scent? Scent? Voice. Person. People. Meat. Not care. Not enemy. Sniff. Listen. Nothing. Look. Nothing. Strangers. Empty things. Vibrating. Ignore. Door. Through door. Enemy. Where? Where? Sniff. Taste. There. Faint. Hate. Follow. Follow. _Follow._

Long ago, sun. Long ago, air. Pain. Enemy.

Scent. Up. Follow trail. Stronger now. Very close. Listen. Sounds. Voices. Listen. Move closer. Move slot. Quiet. Sniff air. Taste air. Scent. Yes. Voice. Yes. Enemy. Lick lips. Growl. Taste blood. Closer. Closer. Look. Look. People. Voices. Enemy. Enemy. Yes. Howl. Run.

Now.

-------------

One moment ago, Chan was standing up, half-turning to leave, to walk out of the room.

The next-

-And then Chan felt a terrible weight slam into him, an overwhelming smell of wet fur and rotting meat. Then he was down, under a stinking mass of barely-real flesh, a nightmare made real, a raver, a destroyer. It was a skinned dog, the largest fucking hellhound he'd ever seen. It was a gigantic abomination glistening like an oil slick, seething internally as it moved. Six feet high, jaws opening sideways, lined with row after row of mismatched fangs, closing now around his _neck-_

There was a sudden hiss, the noise of ripping silk. The air _blurred. _Suddenly, the jaws fell away, and the monster rolled off him, severed head tilting back, burning as it fell.

Jiazheng held his pose for an instant-sword out. He reversed the blade and sheathed it, sliding it slowly back into its scabbard.

Karmen and Ryan were helping Chan up, dragging him away from the corpse. Chan was trembling now, shaking, all of the day's earlier agony rising in his throat to strangle him.

"They've breached the room! _RUN!_"

"-The hell was _that _thing? First monsters, now-"

They were out of time. Ticktock.

He was on his feet again, in full, panicked flight. Behind them was the horrible noise of the sheet-metal shutters being torn apart like tin, shredded from without by- Claws? Sharp enough to slice _steel_?

"Damnit, Karmen! I eat too much for this!"

"And that's my fault? How?"

"Chan! Cast a haste spell or something!"

"Yeah, right. Feet! Go faster! Hey, _look…_It's working!!!"

They tore out the remaining exit, an odd procession of four fugitives running hell-for-leather away from…? None made the horror-movie mistake of turning around, though. _From _was always important. _To _could take care of itself.

Usually.

There was an eerie surreality in that mad run. A terrible sound rolled through row after row of thawing pods. Fists and palms beat at coffin hoods. Wailing. Gurgling.

The sleepers were waking, their frigid bodies sore with hibernation sickness, trapped in their caskets. No doctors or technicians to unlock their cradles, to sluice their organs with warming fluids or inject stimulants or massage paralyzed extremities.

Thanks to the massive drain on the power grid, several dozen near-terminal patients were being roused early, without the necessary preparations. Chan had no doubt they would all suffocate in minutes. There was a central control room two stories up, where someone could disengage the locks and at least free them all. But what was the point? Without the resuscitation teams, they would fail and perish.

But why, damnit? The question was still there. Why was the _point _of this? Oh, massed killings weren't unique in themselves, considering the world they lived in, but there had to be a point, above and beyond the deaths themselves.

The screaming, the pounding…God. Chan would never forget that. A hundred frantic souls waking up to agonizing death.

Damn Ignis. Damn him to hell and back.

"The door! Shut the door!"

Obediently, Ryan shoved the double-doors shut. Arcane streamers of light sank into the lock, the metal running and fusing at the touch.

"_That _should hold them."

_Yeah, _Chan thought bitterly. _About long enough for a leaf to fall._

They skidded into a branch in the passage, losing themselves in the maze of twisting corridors and forking routes.

He'd heard that most people, when presented with a choice, instinctively chose the direction of their primary hand. Considering his crappy luck, Chan wasn't even about to make that mistake.

Left it was, then. Corridor, corridor…Staircase?

"-Ah, to hell with…"

Chan took the stairs three at a time, going way, _way _too fast. Halfway through, his feet left the ground entirely as something cannoned into his legs, sending him rolling down in a clattering ball of ordinance, weapons and curses.

THUD

They hit the ground about a meter lower than Chan had expected, and he could've sworn he heard his shoulder snap on impact. Ryan, of course, was completely unharmed.

"Yo!"

"_Weren't you ahead of me? Where's Jiazheng?"_

"With Karmen!"

"Where's Karmen?"

"I don't know!"

"What's the point of making-"

DING

There was a noise as the elevator at the far end of the hall chimed softly.

Chan looked up. Ryan was already in motion.

Time slowed.

The doors opened.

Things started to happen very, _very _fast.

K' awoke.

He awoke to much pain.

Dimly, he was aware of a rumbling detonation that shook his hospital bed, jarring him painfully awake from a deep, dreamless sleep…

…Wait, what was he doing here, anyway?

He looked down, eyes falling on the large bandage drawn across his chest. Despite the thick layers of gauze, the pink of blood dotted the fabric, a splotch that slowly widened.

Oh yeah, he remembered now. They'd attacked this…base? Lab?...something. A fight. More men, with more guns than they'd expected. A burst of frightening rage. Fire everywhere.

And a janitor with a broken-off mop handle, stabbing him in the chest while he was busy throttling the life from a hapless guard…

He wanted to laugh. The little bastard had hurt him when trained professionals hadn't. If that wasn't funny, he didn't know what was.

"K'! You have to wake up, pal!"

"Unnnhh…Maxima?"

"Yeah, it's me. Up for a journey, K'?"

The Canadian cyborg was busy disconnecting K' from the medical apparatus, shutting off the IV drip, removing electrodes, shuting off the plasma bottle. He lifted K' easily, draping him over one massive shoulder.

"What…"

"Dunno. The hospital's under attack. One moment everything's fine, then the next…Boom, people running around. Screaming."

K' shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, to try to find out more, when a terrible, furious sound filled the room, echoing in violent waves from somewhere in the building. Somewhere close.

"_Rrrraaagghhh-"_

K' felt his blood turn to ice. Maxima's eyes went wide, his skin paling.

"What was that?"

"That what I was telling you," he gasped out. "We need your fire, old buddy. You ready for some burning?"

K' ignited his fist with a thought, a smoldering red enveloping his left hand like an aura. He was groggy, light-headed: Yet, the part that made him unbeatable was taking over, broadcasting threat updates and flooding his system with adrenaline.

"Right now, I'll burn half of Tokyo to get out of here. Let's get going."

Karmen never saw the trap before it was too late.

One moment she was running along smoothly, just getting into her stride. The next, the ceiling shattered, and a man crashed down from the floor above. She could just make out his sickly white blur of a face, the hairless, sloping skill- and suddenly, Karmen _knew _that he was a monster, a killer with black-gloved fists, each as large as a human head-

It was Yiming on a bad day, a steroid-pumped walking abortion. A familiar face, with a preacher's smile and a killer's eyes-

Without so much as a wince of pain or effort, the monster swayed to a stand, blocking the hall, raising his giant hands…

-And with a mighty swing, he crashed his fists through the air, his long arms whipping just in front of her as Karmen sprang back. The momentum was enough for both of his huge hands to plunge _into _the wall across from where he'd leaned. The impact buried his fists, his arms stuck in the wood and plaster halfway to his elbows.

_Me, could've been **ME-**_

Karmen _moved, _sprinting past the giant man. She flew past him, her right arm actually brushing against the heavy cloak, as he jerked his hands free. Unlike Yiming, this one had white hair, she noted. White hair, armor, yet still fast, too fast-

_Ohshitohshitohshitohshit- _

He almost got her anyway, with reflexes faster than fast: As some sixth sense told Karmen to leap, she heard the screech of not-flesh fingers raking across the metal shutters, saw that he'd brought one mighty arm up, slashing through the air where she'd been only a second ago. The bastard meant to _disembowel _her-

"_Dominion Strike!!!"_

And it was gone, just like that, sent flying by Jiazheng's supersonic charge. He hadn't drawn his sword: There was no time and less space to employ it. Instead, the swordsman rammed the hilt right into the man's forehead, imparting all the momentum of a V-8 engine.

The killer hurtled back into the wall, striking and hitting with the noise of a bull in a china shop. Jiazheng cancelled his momentum, spun the sheathed katana neatly in one hand.

"Okay," he said. "I…"

He paused.

The man was _grinning. _That was a bad sign.

His hand came round, and it had the bench in it.

"I…" Jiazheng started again, and then decided on a sudden impulse to duck.

The bench sailed overhead like a battering ram and struck the windows, cracking the supposedly bulletproof plexiglass. With no space to maneuver, the rebound almost got Jiazheng: He rolled aside, nearly crushed as the steel seats crashed down where he'd standing. It hit Karmen and smashed her flat, to a muffled cry of pain.

Now _this _was bad. Everything else had just been playing, compared to this.

"You have a sword, _hero_." The huge man's voice was like an iceberg: Slow, lumbering, but cold. Deathly cold. "I suggest you draw it."

Up close, the man was even more impressive: He wore black powered armor, all graceful spikes and flowing metal that gave him the appearance of a monstrous crab. His bare arms were corded muscle and twisting veins of purple against flesh.

A face seemingly grafted onto a steel-hard skull sloped in to meet a sharp nose, with black eyes like pits straight to the evil that had spawned this unnatural creature. The fingers pointed at Jiazheng were long, powerful, tipped in pointed caps of the same black metal as that armor.

Jiazheng knew he was about to die.

He drew the black sword. It left the scabbard with a long, protracted hiss, like the noise a serpent made before striking. The smooth, deadly feel of the hilt against his sweaty palms gave him confidence: The weapon felt warm, _eager _even, literally throbbing in his grasp. Against this foe, he was going to need it.

For such a big man, his opponent could move fast. He glided toward Jiazheng on silent feet, and the duel began.

From the first, it clear that the man was playing with him, pushing only hard enough to see what he could do. It was quick feet and luck kept Jiazheng alive in the first few seconds, as much as it was skill. The killer struck with the force of a tsunami, with even his most extended strikes delivered with enough impact to drive Jiazheng to his knees. A claw-like finger sliced his cheek to the bone, a stinging trench just under his eye. He felt the warm dampness spreading down his face, from a cut so clean he felt no pain, only a warm buzzing-

_Well, this is it, _Jiazheng thought, slicing through the next movement of the practice kata. He was panting now, sweat soaking his flapping shirt. The half-healed wound on his chest burned with liquid fire, another distraction to ignore.

If he didn't concentrate, he was really going to die.

Surprise replaced confidence in the man's eyes, quickly fading to concentration. Jiazheng's sword seemed to unfold like a fan, a blurring ghost-image of steel slicing the air in front of him. He attacked, all-out, every movement of his blade an attempt to finish the battle. Slowly but surely, the massive man retreated, step-by-step, still parrying with the armored inserts over hands and bulging muscles. His height was a disadvantage: The man had to _bend_ to strike at Jiazheng, like a mounted rider trying to trample infantry. Yet his sheer endurance kept him going, despite the long series of blows Jiazheng managed.

"Enough."

Hellfire flared.

There was a deafening roar as flames leapt at him, even as Jiazheng hit the ground.

The fireball hurtled past Jiazheng and hit the large plate-glass window, which billowed outward in a shower of a million shards under the force of the explosion. Huge shock waves of heat, noise and air pressure reverberated around the room, sweeping a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet and a table out of the window.

Grinning evilly, the man raised a hand, aiming right at Jiazheng's face. There was an odd sensation of suction as flames gathered at that open palm, coalescing to form a red-hot ball of white flames…

Jiazheng was _completely _at a loss for what to do next.

"Look," Jiazheng said in a stern voice. But he wasn't certain how far saying things like 'look' was necessarily going to get him, and time was _not _on his side. _What the hell, _he thought, _you're only young once…_

_-------------_

Karmen woke up just as the man threw the fireball, woke up with a pounding headache and a pain in her side. Her first thought was that she'd been shot-But as she opened her eyes, and the tableau in front of her swam into focus, she remembered.

_He threw the bench, I think- And then…_

No. A name came to mind, the name of the armored terror menacing Jiazheng.

"_Krizalid!!!"_

Krizalid's head snapped round as Karmen yelled his name, as she felt the small derringer she _always _carried slide into her hand. The huge man had so much contempt in his gaze: It was as if he expected her to run away, or to surrender. Anything but for her to raise the gun and to fire.

The first shot rang out. Krizalid's left eye exploded, a burst of inky fluid splattering his wretched, inhuman face. The man did scream then, the first noise she'd heard from him, a cry of ultimate agony. But then he swung, wildly, a huge fist smashing Jiazheng right in the ribs. The swordsman let out an _oof _as his breath left his lungs, even as his ribs crumpled like twigs under the impact. He went down with an awful finality, eyes rolling back in his head as he toppled.

Krizalid took one-_two _powerful strides, halving the distance as Karmen aimed, determined to make the last shot count. She had a way out, a way they didn't know about, and her only regret was that she hadn't packed more bullets. One shot left, and she had to try for the other eye…

The second round punched into his chest with a wet hiss, between the seams in his armor. White smoke curled up.

Enough. It had to be enough.

As Krizalid started his lurching run, Karmen opened a gateway, revealing the roiling tempest of Oblivion beyond. Her mind snagged Jiazheng as solidly as any physical grip, as she willed them into nothingness, warped them out of the hell the hospital had become.

_Cold._

_Terrible cold._

Karmen felt a momentary chill as the darkness at the base of her spine erupted, and the world rolled up and crumpled like a Venetian blind.

---------------

Chan remembered in slow motion.

There'd been a man in the elevator: A creepy Agent-type, complete with wrap-around mirrorshades. He'd already drawn his weapon, and was raising it a fraction of a second before Chan did.

But he didn't have magic on his side.

Fireballs the size of fists struck the man, hammer-blows to the chest and shoulder. Screaming in Japanese, he exploded, his arm pinwheeling out of the small chamber and thudding into a nauseated Ryan. Chan wasn't even touched: The blood splattered the invisible wall inches from his face, dribbling down the side of the barrier.

"Well, that's that."

"Yeah. Ryan, take his handgun, okay?"

"Do I _have _to?" Ryan sounded almost plaintive, looking with disgust at the detached limb still twitching at his feet.

"Do it."

There was a sick _squelching _noise as the Adept pulled the Beeman free, handling it gingerly. He let the arm fall free, wincing as it rolled lifelessly across the smooth tiles, smearing blood across the surface. "Aw, that's _sick. _Chan, could you-"

"N-uh. I'm not touching that…You're on your own, Ryan."

Ryan sighed, stuffed the gun into the waistband of his pants.

"All right…The dark deed you requested is done. Can we get out of here now?"

"Hey, be my guest." Chan stepped into the elevator, his duster trailing in the pool of bodily fluids that _used _to be human. Trying very hard not to throw up, he toed the remains aside, clamping a hand over his face. "Just…Get in the lift…"

His voice trailed off. Take the lift down, right into whoever was still on the ground floor…

…Damn.

There was a rumble from above, and dust drifted down from the ceiling. Footsteps sounded on the stairs-Big, _heavy _footsteps, the kind that told of a stride meant to stop only by collision with something of equal mass…Say, a mountain.

_It was coming this way. _

Silence.

When Chan heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, and as he snapped the Mage Cannon up, what he saw actually made him freeze. In the second it took him to really _see _who it was, his vengeful fury blew away like so much, replaced with absolute bone-chilling awe.

The…_thing _was shrieking, its head thrown back, the brutal, gurgling scream like the voice of hell in the moving dark. It had been a man, once- Arms and legs, shreds of black armor still hanging from its hulking body- but it was changing as it bellowed its rage, and Chan could only stare.

Its face was _melting, _like hot wax, like a movie effect. Its bare chest was puffed and bloated with its endless scream as one massive hand tore armor away, gouging at something embedded in that heroic torso. Sizzling, foul white smoke curled up from both skull and body, smoldering from inflamed and greedy skin-

White phosphorous. Someone had shot the man with white phosphorous, and he was going mad with pain. The horrific figure lurched forward, clutching its face with one hand stained with its own blood, yet still with enough lucidity to know it was not confronting friends.

As Chan raised the Mage Cannon, he saw that the wound on its chest had stopped burning, that his flesh was _eating _the tiny entrance hole. The huge man drew in another breath to scream again-

-And Chan squeezed the trigger in denial, a denial of that tormented creature's existence.

_KA-BLAMMMM_

A bolt of coherent light leapt from the barrel, and a new wound blossomed in Krizalid's chest, cutting off the man's screams…But that was all it did. The one remaining eye angled toward Chan, that head with the ridiculous shock of white hair tilting.

"Yoouuuuuu…" The word was a guttural hiss, a confirmation and a promise all at once. "Bastarrr_dddddd_…"

"Oh, shit," Ryan mumbled. Chan'd almost forgotten his presence. "We're _dead_."

"Shoot, damnit! _Shoot!_"

The Adept's gun joined in the roar of gunfire, a throatier but less powerful sound. He backed toward the elevator as he fired a mix of shots at Krizalid: He had no _idea _where a shot was gonna stop something so massive, so Ryan just fired at anything he could.

Yet Krizalid kept walking, like a furious colossus, one that simply refused to die. The bullets hammered him, the Mage Cannon bolts connected both high and low, and the white phosphorous in both face and torso kept burning with a fury even water couldn't quench. (Author's Note: Yes, white phosphorus can burn _underwater._ Ouch.)

Both boys gave ground faster and faster, still firing, hitting what would've been kill shots on any other man. A least the smoking monster was slow, powerful but unable to really move-

Krizalid bent at the waist, shaking off two more shots that glanced off his shoulder pads. He bent at the waist, bent his knees-

And pushed off in a dynamic lunge that tore gouges in the floor, propelling him forward at a full run. A wordless snarl escaped his throat as he rushed at the pathetic creatures that had _dared _to attack him.

Ryan blasted again and again with the Beeman, but Chan didn't spare a glance to see how he was faring. Three more shots and he was out of ammo…

_KA-BLAM _

_KA-BLAM_

_KA-BLAM_

All three bolts hit the monster right in the torso, boring a hole just above his heart. He lost track of the shots, unable to believe that it could still be coming, less than twenty feet away as missiles hot enough to melt steel punctured Krizalid's massive chest…

…The gun clicked empty, even as Krizalid stopped in his thundering tracks, swaying from side to side like a tall tree in a strong wind. Without taking his shocked gaze from the reeling giant, Chan grabbed another clip from his trenchcoat, fumbling through the motions of reloading.

_RAAAARRKKKK-clickclickclick_

Ryan's gun clattered to the ground as the Adept tossed the empty weapon aside. He set his feet, ready to leap and strike, to force himself toattack the looming apparition. He hesitated as Chan held up a hand, even as their nemesis tottered closer.

When Krizalid was ten feet away, Chan aimed the reloaded Mage Cannon at the man's skull, closed one eye. Power channeled down his hands, rushing through the circuit to his weapon. Azure streamers of magic sank into the runes that had been etched into the firearm, rimming them with cerulean illumination.

He pulled the trigger.

The Mage Cannon thundered with a force that nearly shattered his wrist. There was a sudden, soundless concussion as a jet of something not quite fire, not quite lightning struck Krizalid like a word from the mouth of God. The impact snapped the big man's head back, to the point where Ryan could hear neck bones snapping. Then, like the recipient of a Muhammad Ali knockout blow, the towering creature slumped to his right, falling heavily against one smoke-blackened wall and sagging there. Not crumpling, but not moving either.

"Is he…"

Ryan let the sentence trail off. Chan nodded: He'd seen Krizalid turn his head at the last moment, watched the light in his eyes go out. The man dead- Even if he wasn't, their battle with the terrible mystery he'd been was finally over.

Chan bit his lower lip, staring at the still impossibly standing, leaning creature.

"Uh, Chan…Don't do that, man. Bad vibes, dude."

"Just a second."

He took a cautious step forward.

Then another.

And another-

-And Krizalid's eyes opened. Without a word, he swung his hand. The blow caught Chan in the stomach. There was a whooshing sound, like a bellows deflating, and then a harsh screech as Chan's defenses finally gave way. The force of the blow sent him into the elevator in a heap some ten feet away, a wet soggy splatter as flesh slapped into the metal wall.

Krizalid never noticed. Not even glancing at his disabled foe, he swayed to his feet, face as blank as a medium communicating with the dead. He raised one wrecking-ball fist, poised to crush-

"Hey! Eat _this, _you asshole!!!"

Ryan had lifted the fire extinguisher from its place on the wall. Now he pointed the spout at Krizalid, ripping the safety pin loose. White foam geysered out, a jet of freezing mist. The Adept hosed Krizalid down with a generous blast of oxygen killer, the sheer volume of thick, choking foam overwhelming the big man. Even worse, it began to set, hardening quickly to a substance with the consistency of concrete. Barely able to see through the billowing whiteness, Ryan directed the hose over everything, dousing the corridor liberally with smoke. There was a series of short, sharp coughs from within the cloud- All humans had to breathe, after all.

With a last, spluttering cough, the extinguisher gave up the ghost. Ryan let go off the handle and backed into the elevator, slapping desperately at the 'Door Close' switch. _Please, **please **let it work, _he prayed, all-too-aware that his countermeasure wasn't going to work much longer-

To make it this far and then die because of a slow elevator…He couldn't accept that. He'd been through too much.

There was a scream, the sound a demon cry, like the dying screams of a thousand damned souls. Ryan hit the control marked down one last time, dropping down to grab something from the floor. With another roar-scream, Krizalid burst from the fog, picking up speed with each staggering step, the doors closing slowly, the terrible creature almost flying now-

-And Ryan had the Mage Cannon in his hands, pumped a shot, and squeezed. The blast hit Krizalid's barrel chest, knocking him back-

…With a final-sounding crunch, the doors closed.

_WHAM._

The car actually rocked, as Ryan realized that Krizalid had rammed the doors, and that he was surely a demon straight from hell. Chan's gun had four rounds left, and the Adept raised the Mage Cannon, wondering if this was the end. But then (miracle of miracles), there was a grinding noise as machinery activated, and the lift began its slow descent.

They were going down, down, away from the monster that lurked above.

-------------

The elevator's small chamber was filled with the smooth, tranquil hum of gears and electricity. The sound was oddly soothing to raw nerves, like a soft lullaby or mood music. Chan, jaw clenched against the pain, was propped up against the steel walls, feeling an odd sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as the lift continued its journey at a snail's pace.

Blood seeped through the fingers of his hand, pressed against the right side of his chest.

"Chan? Hang in there, dude."

"I'm-okay," Chan gasped, and although his face was pale, his eyes clouded with suffering, Ryan believed him. It undoubtedly hurt like a son of a bitch, but blunt impact wouldn't- _shouldn't _kill him. "Gimme my gun back."

He tossed it to Chan, and the mage caught it with his remaining hand, resting it on his leg. It was filled with _normal _bullets this time, not quartz chips, which was good. Chan couldn't concentrate through the pain, couldn't summon up the focus needed to light a candle.

"What…Which level are we on?"

"Level fifteen, and falling. I figured that even the big dude can't know where we're going."

"And _where _are we going?"

_Can't go to the first floor. They'll know-_

"Basement One. That's the carpark…I figure we can 'jack a car, drive outta here."

Chan'd been exhausted before, but the relentless pain of his injuries were sending him to some delirious personal hell he'd never imagined could exist. His thoughts came in spiraling, uneasy bursts that he couldn't seem to sort through, at least not to any reasonable clarity. Oh, he _knew _what had to be done: Ride the elevator down, steal a vehicle, try to heal…But his senses were too overloaded to allow him to think more than a bit at a time.

It was almost over. That was something he could latch onto, the only constant in his muddled mind.

Ryan watched as Chan crumpled, the dark splotch in his side spreading yet further. This was _bad_: The dude didn't have enough juice left to keep himself going. The Adept didn't particularly relish the idea of dragging his unconscious ass along…

A short, sharp jolt of electricity flared.

"OW!!! _What the fuck?!"_

"Just trying to wake you up a little, dude. _Don't _fall asleep: Sleep and die. I'll do whatever I need to keep you awake."

The rest of the ride passed in tense, gloomy silence. The cool filtered air smelled like fire and disease, even as both Awakened scanned the shadows, afraid of what lurked beyond their cage…

…Ryan couldn't wait to get out of here.

--------------

_This _time they were going to nail the bastard to the wall. That's all there was to it. Nail it to the wall and watch it bleed sin, watch it struggle like a caged rat before they blew it back to hell. Best yet, they were going to get _paid _for doing a job that any of them would've given an arm for.

The lights inside the hospital had dimmed twenty minutes ago, leaving Tero Hikoshi and his four companions in near-darkness, except for the crimson glow of their Kirlian goggles. There was plenty of breathing room inside the building, despite the walls that boxed them in on four sides, but the nagging claustrophobia refused to settle itself inside Tero's gut.

He always laughed when he saw himself in a mirror before launching an operation. Tero and his fellow operatives wore nigh-identical black riot gear, complete with bulletproof vests, knee-high combat boots, _and _teal helmets with the NESTS logo emblazoned on the sides. Some days, he felt like this was all a bad joke. Right now, he wished it was.

The small submachine gun he clutched and the steeled look in his eyes told the truth. Beneath the bells and trinkets, this was a vicious job.

"Is this thing working? Why isn't this goddamn thing working?" said Sora, a skinny man in identical riot gear.

Slap. Slap. Slap. _Click._

With the annoyed snap of his head into the wall, the goggles latched into place and started to warm up.

Tero snorted. "Yeah, keep smacking. As if that'll help-"

"Shut up." Sora finally got the set of the Kirlian-feed goggles down over his eyes properly. Miraculously, the indicator lights started blinking, and the backlight in the display finally powered up. "Kami-sama! About time, too."

Tero _hated _those goggles. It was like watching the world through a set of cardboard tubes, and when they started to break down, the first thing to go was _always _the real-time imaging. This left the goggles lagging behind what you were actually seeing by one or two seconds…Hell, he'd seen a three-second lag in the early models. That kind of crap could get you killed, even on a good day.

Today was _not _a good day.

It was a bug hunt: Find the EE (Enhanced Entity), kill/capture the EE, have a cigarette, try to go to sleep without nightmares about the face you just splattered over some expensive interior design. All part of a day's work at NESTS Cartel.

But _this _EE had killed before, and it was going to do it again. The critters didn't have to kill too many operatives before NESTS blacklisted them, and sent in wetwork teams as a contribution the 'greater good'. Tero's team had crept in through the back of the building after setting up the explosive packets, while the long knives and the shatterbrains- The Eidolons and the 'reprogrammed' EE's respectively- went in through the walls.

Tero was taking point-man position. He wove his way through the jumble, letting the others follow suit. His earpiece receiver fed him a steady stream of garble and noise, instructions being relayed from the Field Coordinator to the operatives on-site, with liberal unintelligible interference cutting through.

"_Bra… static …come around to the central… static …roger, nothing to repor… static …continue your sweep, watch those stair… static …"_

"Fucking equipment," he thought, not for his first time or fortieth. He gave his headset a futile whack.

_They aren't receiving. Let's go out to the lobby…_

There, Lin took them.

--------------

Lin faded into the shadows out of habit, careful to avoid notice. His hunters were good men, well-trained and alert. They were taut, cool and calculating as they swept the room…Yet no-one had ever managed to penetrate the _Ninpo _taught by his clan, the ancient art of concealment known only to them.

Upside down, clinging to the ceiling, Lin relaxed slightly, confident that the darkness and his state would provide sufficient cover. Calmly, he tensed for action, _knowing _that they would never have a chance to touch him.

-Then he heard the lead officer bark "Goggles." Each man reached for the rig on his head, the lenses swinging into position. They weren't thermal, or light-gathering or anything Lin had ever seen. An unholy red glow outlined each man's eye sockets. It gave their faces a skeletal appearance, suddenly bringing to mind images of the walking dead.

He heard the leader start, a sharp hiss of indrawn breath. And then Lin realized…

_They were looking right at him. _

The officer released his grip on the MP-5 and drew the Sig. The pistol's bark was an exclamation point punctuating the rattle of automatic gunfire, even as Lin _moved. _Skittering across the ceiling like a four-legged spider, juking past streams of automatic gunfire, he rolled off the surface onto the wall, seemingly ricocheting right off like a pinball propelled from a cannon.

The ninja had eight stingers, two on each hand, one on the inside of each wrist, and one on the spur of each boot. As he descended, Lin's leg swung down and caught the leader in the throat.

The venom he'd picked wasn't necessarily a poison _per se. _It was the vasoactive protein mosquitoes used to keep blood flowing during a puncture. Only, instead of the minute quantity you'd get from a mosquito bite, Lin pumped in half a cup. It hit Tero's bloodstream in a wave, opening every vessel wide. His face went bright red, then white as all the blood pooled down in his feet, and then he passed out.

Lin hurdled the fallen body like a surfer, leaping the twenty feet down the hall at the next man while he was still drawing breath to shout. If he'd wanted, Lin could've slammed into him with bone-crushing force. Yet, Lin _still _preferred subtlety, so he crossed simply hit the man in the throat with both stingers.

His feet _had _touched- Gently as a fly landing- on the opposite sides of the corridor, and like a fly's feet they held Lin up as he pumped a different insect's venom into the operative's neck. The effect swelled the affected tissue, giving him instant buboses in his neck the size of softballs. They closed off his windpipe, silencing him and then smothering him as he started to choke.

The others were _still _firing. Lin hoisted the suffocating guard high, just in time to take a full-auto spray of 9mm bullets through the chest. The ninja let him go, heaving the sudden corpse towards his former comrades. To their credit, they reacted fast, shifting to fire from different angles.

But not fast enough. One man, raising his SMG to fire, caught Lin's ankle stinger in the head. Spider venom this time, five times the amount needed to kill. Lin dropped to the ground, handling the transfer from wall to floor as smoothly as drawing breath. Cloaked in shadow, lit by the fiery light of malfunctioning Kirlian goggles, Lin was the last person any assault force would've wanted to encounter in a dark hospital late at night.

Eloquently, he raised an eyebrow, though the remaining operatives probably couldn't see it in the poor light. They simply regarded him with stark terror, frozen expressions of fear apparent even through their goggles. Lin faked a step forward. They flinched. Really, what kind of bottom-of-the-barrel assassins was NESTS hiring?

"Well, gentlemen?"

He charged, kicking off against the walls, flipping through the air to avoid the bullets they sent speeding toward him. Lin reached a bench, bounced off it, and swung down, stingers leading as he fell. The smell of bitter almonds filled the air as cyanide rushed into his victim's body, the man spamsing and thrashing at the virulent overdose.

A flash of pain burst against Lin's arm. His reactions had got his body out of the way, but the shot had still winged him, passing clean through flesh and out the other side. The muscle was bruised, and Lin felt the bone crack.

That was unforgivable. His old master would've punished him for that, and for good reason too.

No one had got a lucky shot against Lin for a decade. His charge turned into a furiously acrobatic rush, rife with backflips and spinning somersaults. The last operative emptied the magazine of the SMG, but Lin saw every shot coming and simply swatted them away. The man's eyes were defiant, lips drawn back into a snarl. Dropping his SMG, he pulled a combat knife from his waist.

"Defiant to the end," Lin spoke, almost with pity. "What must they do to your soul to make you so blind?"

The man didn't answer. Perhaps he was too afraid to. Perhaps he just refused to answer someone who stood so sternly against everything NESTS stood for.

Lin nodded, and tore out his throat.

------------------

The lift came to a shuddering stop, followed by a cheerful-sounding ring as the bell sounded. Telling them that it was time to go. Reflexively, Ryan cringed at the noise, looking round as if he expected hordes of armed goombas to descend on them at any moment.

There was nothing. The carpark was silent and still, empty except for the many deserted cars parked across the area. Chan limped out of the elevator, feeling very tired and very, very old. He swung the Mage Cannon left and right, sending the barrel dancing across the vehicles surrounding him.

"Seems clear to me. Can't see anyone, anything-"

_Wait. _

There was a noise, a low rumble as something huge and heavy began to move. The duo exchanged glances. The underground carpark was large, a labyrinth construct large enough for several people to conceal themselves. The light was flickering, inconsistent: Bare bulbs cast a chill fluorescent light down on the grey plateau, a washed-out and faded illumination that merely made the shadows look…Dirty. The concrete room was at least fifty feet below ground, the floors a mess of circuitry and wires crudely slapped together. Listening to the static hum of electricity was like listening to a choir of dead monks.

"Did you hear that?"

"What was it?"

"_I don't know._"

Ryan let off a nervous cough, rubbing his hands together against the cold. The atmosphere of the place was starting to affect him, too. For a moment, he could've sworn he saw _things _in the corners, formless, amorphous creations dreamed out in ruined minds…

He clamped down on those thoughts. However, he couldn't shut down his imagination, which was happily kicking over the furniture and terrifying the inhabitants of his mind. After this, Ryan was going to get a week's worth of sleep. Even if it killed him.

"There's plenty of time to sleep when you're dead," Chan rasped. "No-one wakes you up, though."

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh? I thought you did."

_Now _Ryan was starting to get creeped out. There was occult, and then there was _occult, _ya know? Idly, he wondered if the place was really cold, after all. Still rubbing his hands together, the Adept took another step forward, eyes darting back and forth.

"Okay. I'll 'jack' a car, then we'll get outta here. Just give me a second, 'kay?"

No answer. Chan had a thousand-yard stare on his face, completely distracted, gazing intently at something only he could see…

It _was _cold in here. Ryan's breath started fogging the air in front of his face as he exhaled, gripped by a sudden chill. Strange…He hadn't felt the temperature drop. Movement caught his eye, so brief that he thought he'd imagined it. A sinuous, winding motion in the umbral blots of darkness, conjuring images of something vast and terrible looming above them.

_"Oh SHIT!!! Chan, look out!!!"_

Ryan's voice felt oddly muffled, echoing weirdly in the dimensions of the carpark. It was more than that, he realized in an amazing flash of clarity: Voices were whispering…Small, tinny voices creeping like parasites, sometimes whispering things Ryan could understand, sometimes not. What he _could _understand, he wished he hadn't.

This was it. _Game over. _

Chan jerked, startled. The air was suddenly charged with magic, as he started casting a spell-

-Then he vanished, swallowed into the folds of shadow that had suddenly stretched to envelope him. The mage started to scream, one of his desperate, grasping hands the last things to vanish. For a moment, Ryan caught a glimpse of his face, pale and filled with a look of utter terror-

There was the screech of tires, and the abrupt bark of gunfire. Bullets tore through air and formless ether from just behind him with noisy sonic booms, loud, pointless bangs that hurt the ears. A red Kuruma had tore out from some yet-unseen corner, the windows rolled down, and the driver firing, one hand still on the steering wheel-

_Samuel?!_

"**_MOVE!!!" _**The Oracle roared the words in a voice of undeniable command. Ryan felt his knees buckle of their own volition, as Samuel raked the spectre with another rolling volley of gunfire. Holes appeared in the swirling darkness, little fires which quickly went out as the phantom currents which churned that turbulent mass swallowed them. Inky black ichor pooled to the ground, with a noise like the sliver of a scream…

A sliver of a scream. Ryan didn't even want to imagine where he'd thought of a phrase like that.

Bright yellow eyes flared, wedges of lemon floating suspended in midair. Another disturbance was expanding from somewhere within, even as more bullets ripped into it. The whispers were full-out screams now, an ungodly clamor that had no place in a sane world. He couldn't tell if it was Chan or the creature that was screaming-

"_MALORIUS ARCANUM!!!"_

Suddenly, the world went purple-and-green, careening wildly from one end of the color spectrum to the other. The blackness split straight down the centre, shrinking away from a flash of white at its very core. Ryan inhaled, a single deep breath, and plunged forward at top speed, snagging Chan's trenchcoat in his hands before the darkness could advance again.

There was a _click-click-click _as Samuel's gun fell silent. The man swore, revving his car's engine, trying to reload one-handed before the spectre could recover.

Chan was hurting in every conceivable way, blood smeared all over his face and pants. He looked as if he'd jumped into a blender, and just barely made it out alive. He still held the Mage Cannon in a death grip. No matter what happened to him, Chan just couldn't seem to bear to put the damn thing down. More importantly, he wasn't screaming as much now as he'd been a few seconds ago.

Ryan knew some First Aid, but fuck, this was Fourth or Fifth Aid, the kind of thing they teach to a trauma surgeon, not a guy who'd slept through his NPCC classes. There was blood everywhere, bone poking out, the smell of scorched flesh like incense…

"You're gonna be all right, buddy, just keep your ass together!" He was telling his teammate, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "Keep up that noise, and it's gonna go for you again!!!"

Samuel wasn't much help.

"_Come on!" _He yelled, still firing, to much noise and little evident effect. The Spectre wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything, it was just floating near the ceiling, watching them all…

No, something was _holding _it still. Ryan squinted, making out the translucent outline of a sleek mechanical figure, shimmering like a heat mirage, forming a barrier between both sides-

-The Emperor. Chan's Stand.

Then Ryan's back scraped against the side door of the car, and he was fumbling for the handle, not daring to take his eyes off the floating nightmare. Sigla was sliding off the Emperor's chrome flesh, forming growing curtains of words that curved toward the spectre, as real as flames or chains. Yet the Stand seemed half-formed, weakening, merely a projected image that weakened with every passing second.

"What the hell are you waiting for?"

Samuel hit the 'Open' button, trying to train his handgun on the blurry, incoherent monster at the same time. He heard a loud grunt as Ryan literally fell into the car, dragging Chan's body in after him. Straining, the Adept swung the door shut, muttering something to himself about "Been down that road…Down that road…"

Finally.

The Oracle's foot shoved pedal to the metal, and the little car surged forward as the engine revved mightily. They were off, tires spinning, Samuel's white-knuckled grip on the wheel never weakening as he muscled it through an illegal turn. The Kuruma scraped three cars on the way out, sacrificing safety for more speed. It rocketed across the carpark, spun crazily to the left, clipped a pillar, and drove forward for the exit.

Behind them, there was a screech as tentacles of darkness whipped out from the core of the creature and tore the Emperor apart. Chan let out a final, horrible wail as the Stand shattered and was consumed, wounds erupting across his lacerated arms and legs. Desperately trying to staunch his own injuries, Ryan started: There were bite-marks on Chan's limbs, as if he'd been assaulted by a swarm of tiny, biting monsters. His friend wasn't just here, in the car with them…He was also back there, being shredded by some nameless thing wallowing in a seething hatred for all life.

"We're going to die." Chan's voice was dreadfully calm. "We're going to die here, and Oblivion will eat our souls."

"Shut him up," Samuel snapped, the words clipped and sharp. He maneuvered the car toward the toll booth and the exit, building up speed. "And get your seatbelts on!!"

"What-"

The engine was whining now, sounding like a small animal in pain. Ryan felt his eyeballs being pressed back into his skull from the acceleration, a slow, relentless pressure like a huge fist holding him down. The oily feel of magic filled the air, limning everything in a shimmering glow. A single symbol formed itself from nothingness, three interlocking circles just ahead of them-

In the moment before they passed through, Chan recognized it for what it was.

"That's a hast-"

The car accelerated to near lightspeed, moving three, four, _eight _times as fast, rushing forward with the momentum of a bullet train. There was a blur of motion as the roof ripped off and tore like paper, hurled away by the wind's swash to smash halfway through a parked motorcycle. Almost simultaneously, every window cracked, then shattered, sucked out into the moiling chaos of the miniature tornado surrounding them.

At first, the only trace the Kuruma left of its passage was a dancing trail of sparks right down the white line in the centre of the carpark. But as it tore past parked cars, it started to leave further evidence: A spume of shattered blue safety glass spraying out in parallel vanes as the windows and windshields of the cars blew out of their frames, spraying into the air like rooster tails behind a speedboat.

Anyone watching would've seen a powerful linear disturbance, like a cosmic ray fired through a cloud chamber. By the force of its passage, it left behind a shockwave, a spreading cone of distortion that was a hundred times larger than the dark source at its apex. The yellow barrier fastened to the toll booth disintegrated before the Kuruma ever reached it, fragmented pieces forming just another portion of the debris swirling in its wake.

The car left the underground parking lot at several thousand kilometers an hour, ripping past the black Hummers parked around the scene. Two agents didn't get out of the way in time and were promptly splattered like overripe grapes, flayed alive by the many, many sharp objects swirling through the air.

Then the Kuruma was gone, rapidly shrinking to a small dot on the horizon. Northbound.

-------------------

Elsewhere, Jiazheng opened his eyes. The first thing that he noticed was the smell: An amalgam of rotted food, paper products and general garbage. He was sprawled across several bags, the contents feeling soft, squishy and utterly foul to the touch. Plastic rustled as he sat up, vaguely wondering what'd happened to him.

Karmen was sitting on a garbage can, ironically one of the cleanest spots of the area. She turned her head to face him as the swordsman sat up, dusting trash off his clothes.

"Ah. You're awake."

"Yeah. Where…Where are we? What happened?"

The last he remembered was the big guy playing the congo on his kidneys, followed by an impact with not-soft things…Nah, there was something before that, an ice-cold flash, then the wrenching feeling of flight-

"I Storm-wended us out of that place, as far away as I could. It was a blind jump, anything to escape Krizalid…"

_Krizalid. _

"That thing has a _name?"_

The girl hesitated, just for a moment.

"Yes. In fact, the Cartel Team used to be directly under his command. But that's neither here nor there. We're outside the hospital now: I've just been waiting for you to wake up."

"Ryan? Chan?"

Silently, Karmen shook her head. "Nothing. As far as I know, they're still in there…" She pointed.

The hospital was battered and scorched, smoke pouring out of the windows. Little figures ran around the base of the building, black Hummers like toy cars at this distance. Suddenly, impossibly, a series of explosions racked the stricken building. It erupted in a huge gout of flame stabbing skyward, like a hand clawing at the sky. A ball of fire rolled up out of the wreckage, wrapped in greasy black smoke.

"Fuck." Jiazheng couldn't keep the awe or horror from his voice. Burning wreckage pattered down as secondary explosions wracked the structure, ripping through the torn hospital. Even the huge sign fell to the ground in a hail of sparks and glass, shards gushing out the building and down the front steps.

He stood, feeling lighter somehow. "Oh, God…All those people…"

"I'm sorry, Jiazheng," Karmen said, as gently as she could. "But we have to go."

The pair hurried away from the burning, gutted wreckage behind them. "Do you think the other guys made it out in time?"

"Who knows? Time will tell."

----------------

Halfway across the city, Ryan watched the hospital burn. They'd driven out just in time, moments before the explosions brought everything down on their heads. Chan was leaning against their car, face grey and weary with fatigue, not looking away from the carnage. In the driver's seat, Samuel regarded the explosions with an almost solemn air, his eyes hidden by the reflective glasses he wore.

For a long time, no-one spoke.

"We have to find the others," Samuel spoke. His voice was tight, controlled, the only real thing in a world gone mad.

"No shit," Chan replied, grasping onto the objective like the lifeline it was.

"No shit," Samuel agreed. "Because this is just the beginning. There's a whole storm of shit headed our way, and we're not ready…"

"None of us are."


	17. Character Movelists Version 1

**Character Movelists**

****

**(Note: **These particular movelists were designed for balance, to show the standard attacks the characters would use in the game itself. There are a _lot _more moves they've used before in the fights that aren't listed here…It would be impossible to list them all. This is mainly just for fun. Stay alert for updates to this, a the characters change as the story progresses.)

**Ryan Lim:**

Style: 

Mixed; Jeet Kun Do and varied self-defense maneuvers. In other words, swift punches and kicks and open-handed counters. 

Button Style: 

Standard 

1st round opening: 

-- Snaps fingers, sends lightning arching between then. Does the Kim-like smile, and says,

"Let's rock."

-- Alternate 1: There's a brief spray of water at the side of the screen, and Ryan warps in 

dramatically, arms folded in approved anime fashion.

--Alternate 2: Ryan strides in, waves at the camera, grins, and drops into his fighting 

stance.

--Alternate 3: Ryan draws a handful of dice from his pockets, tosses them at his opponent's feet. "I do… THAT much damage."

Openings: 

-- same as 1st round opening with the following exceptions: 

-- vs Kyo: Ryan walks onstage dressed as a fireman. He points a fire extinguisher at Kyo, who promptly uses his Orochi Nagi to burn the fireman attire off. Ryan mutters to himself, "Well, so much for that plan." Both assume their fighting stances. Kyo's super bar is slightly increased. 

-- vs. Chan: Chan and Ryan have the following conversation: 

Ryan: Hey!  I know you!  You're Chan!

Chan: Yeah!  And I know you, too!  You're unconscious!

Ryan: But I'm not-

Chan, all of a sudden, launches into a flying Boot to Da Head. Ryan takes the hit (but only a _bit _of damage; karma's a bitch). The fight immediately starts after Chan's sneak attack.

 -- vs. Kula: Grinning, Ryan cracks his knuckles, looking positively diabolical. 

Ryan: I've been waiting for this for a _long _time, Kula.   

Kula: Bring it on, Ryan Lim.                              

Diana (suddenly appearing): Now, now, children. Play nice.

The fight starts. Ryan's Super Bar is slightly increased.

-- vs. Ignis: Ryan throws his hands up and yells, "Okay. I quit. There's no effing way I'm mixing it up with THE bad guy in the first round." Ignis watches as Ryan walks offscreen, only to be dragged back on by his teammates. Ryan gulps. Ignis snickers. Both take their fighting stances. 

-- vs. Ryan: The normal background is removed, replaced by a long, concrete road, with tall skyscrapers and decaying buildings on either side. A long row of faceless black-suited men line either side of the road, silent spectators to the soon-epic conflict. Pouring rain spatters the surface, leaving a very cool 'aura' around the combatants. The Defender walks in from one side of the screen, looking confusedly at the setting.

Ryan #1: What the hell is this?

The Challenger (Wearing a black cassock): Welcome back, Ryan Lim. We _missed_ you.

Ryan #1: Ah. _The Matrix _parody. (Louder) It ends tonight, dude. One way or the other.

(Cut to overhead shot, both combatants charging each other along the single yellow line. They collide, hurling each back to the original side of the screen. Ryan #1 turns a backflip, skids to a stop. The other does likewise, recovering quickly. The Defender drops into his defense stance…And beckons. The fight begins.)

-- vs. anyone NOT in KOF: Ryan says, "Hey! You're..." Ryan pauses. He bigsweats. He pauses some more. He then sheepishly admits, "...I don't know who you are. Who the hell are you, anyways?" 

This is followed by his opponent's entire team facefaulting. AND, if the player is using the _full _DHS team, the entire group facefaults too. 

All that fell pick themselves up, and the fight begins. 

Taunt: 

-- snickers as he shakes out his arms and legs for a moment. 

Victory Poses: 

-- Bows, and says: "Our asswhuppings are fresh off the grill, 24 hours a day. Be sure to stop by again.

-- Leans against the corner, making a 'gun' with thumb and index finger. He closes one eye and 'shoots'.

-- Thunder rumbles in the distance, as Ryan strikes a Kyosuke-esque pose. 

-- Points at the camera, and says: "DHS Productions presents: A beating you'll never, _eeeeeeeeeeeevver _forget." He _poofs _offscreen in a burst of water.

-- [vs. Ryan] Toes at the clone, then promptly snags his ankle and drags him offscreen. "Time to talk, wannabe."

Draw: 

-- walks off without saying a word. 

Loss to time: 

-- Stares at his watch, looks at the clock, and curses. Faintly, boorish chants of 

    "REFEREE KAYU!!! REFEREE KAYU!!! REFEREE KAYU!!!" are heard. 

Sayings: 

-- "You lost? Are you sure you're [insert opponent name here]?"   
-- "And that, kid, is how it's done."   
-- [Desperation] "Note to self: Get sunglasses."

-- "You saw my SECRET moves…I _had _to kill you. Sorry."

-- "I think I made it clear…Don't use your _face _to block my _foot._"

Example Combo: 

-- standing LK, standing LK, standing HP, Electronic Revolution, Hiryu-No-Ken

Throw #1:

Leg Revolver

HK when near opponent.  

Ryan grabs his opponent, then flings himself backward, sending both rolling across the floor with incredible speed. If K is hit, Ryan unfolds, sends his opponent smashing into the nearest hard surface. If not, Ryan keeps rolling, slamming his victim headfirst into the hard, hard ground.

Throw #2:

HEEL!!!

HP when near opponent 

Ryan slams his palm into the opponent's head, yelling 'HEEL!!!'. Whilst the opponent is still stunned, he grabs him/her and _heaves _them to the opposite side of the screen. 

_True _One Inch 

(A.K.A Shadowless Hand) 

f + C 

Ryan ducks low, and jabs forward with a single, powerful palmstrike. Very little damage, but the opponent can be literally blasted to the other side of the screen. Perfect combo startup.

Anticipation Counter: Waiting Thunder

Rev. dp + K

Ryan enters a semi-crouching guard stance. If hit by a mid/high ground attack, he'll step forward and grab his opponent's extended limb, then perform a one-handed electric palm strike to their chest at point-blank range, sending them flying across the screen. This uses up a meter point if it connects, as well as inflict decent damage. 

Against aerial attacks, Ryan will grab his opponent's limb and strike upwards for normal damage. This juggles them for a brief moment, and does not require a meter point, but does not inflict as much damage as the ground-based version. 

_Ma Lou Lor Gun_ (Ape carries treetrunk)

qcb + P 

Ryan attacks with an electrically-charged hook (LP) or an electrically-charged hook followed by an electrically-charged uppercut (HP). Both versions have quick startup. LP version does light damage and has short recovery (counter with a jab). HP version does a bit more damage, knocks the opponent back, and has a not-so-short recovery (counter with anything reasonably fast). 

Can be followed up by:

Sweeping Backfist: qcb + P

Spinning Kick: qcf + K

Gutter-Stomp: d + K 

_Ma Lou Lor Gun_ (MASSIVE double-axehandle): hcb, qcf + P

High damage if all connect.

Wave Cannon

qcf + P 

Actually a misnomer, as it can be one of two projectiles. LP fires off a brief bolt of electricity, which travels as fast as well, lightning. Low damage, but incredible speed and a brief stun. HP is a quick slash of water, much like K's Iron Trigger. 

Extra:

Hold LP: Ryan's clothes start to billow in an unseen wind, and his hair stands on end as he charges up the lightning bolt. His Super Meter starts going down, of course, but you can release a deadlier blast at any time. Perfect to fake out an opponent.

Hold HP: Ryan charges up, forming a small orb of slowly-growing water that begins to swirl, glow and otherwise look more threatening. Ever seen _Volcano High? That's _how much it hurts when he throws it.

f + K during Water Slash: Ryan boots the blade of water forward like a football, spinning round to kick.

hcb + K:  Ryan backflips, and _smashes _the water blast forward with all his might. This is extremely powerful, but takes quite a long time to startup.

Vanishing Trick

360 + any

Ryan waves merrily and teleports. A will set him down behind an opponent; B throws Ryan into the upper corner behind himself; C is a fake (Eyan reappears one second later in the same place), and D sets him just behind his opponent. This move comes out almost instantly, has good priority, and uses up 1/10th of Ryan's super bar. 

The move has a telltale splash of water to signify Ryan's previous position, and inflicts no damage. If this move is done on the beach stage, a huge trail of sand will shoot into the air. 

_Factor-R_

qcb, hcf + Any

This is Ryan's multi-purpose move: It's extremely easy to do, and comes out quite fast. There're four main effects, all of which do appreciable damage. However, both the C and D moves eat an entire Super Bar whether they work or not. Basically, it begins with a blurred backdash, quick enough to escape from almost anything…Though it does _not _burst through projectiles.

A: Takedown. A dashing four hit stabbing attack. Ryan forms his hands into two-fingered fists and does the cruciform motion on the opponent, starting with the eyes, then the groin, followed by the left, then right chest. Each light hit is punctuated by the corresponding mnemonic used to remember the steps: "Spectacles! Testicles! Wallet! Watch!" The cross pattern formed on the opponent then explodes for medium damage. He finishes by hauling his fist back and slamming the opponent right in the face with it with all his might.

B: Snap Bomb. Ryan dashes in low (evading all high and middle attacks) and attempts a grab that must be blocked low. If he manages the grab, he hefts his target on his shoulders by their legs, then powerbombs them back to the ground. Kinda slow, but does good damage. It has a missed animation if he whiffs it, or is blocked, and can be teched out of.

C: _Thunder Strike. _Ryan snaps his fingers, and teleports to his opponent's location, before lashing out with a quick jab. If he connects, he does what can best be described as Crono's _Confuse _attack. Right after the attack, Ryan hops back, snaps his fingers _again, _summoning a lightning bolt to strike his opponent. If the startup misses, the lightning bolt strikes _him _instead. The strike won't harm him, but it'll stun him long enough for the opponent to hurt him.

D: _The Lawless Ocean. _Ryan pulls his arm backward, yells, and 'pushes' forward. A _huge _wave of water roars in from offscreen, smashing the opponent with a solid wall of churning water. Knockdown on impact, whether blocked or not, but jumpers like Athena can simply leap over the wave.  

Wicked Slide

d, hcf + K 

Does a baseball slide, feet-first, along the ground. However, if K is not held down, then Ryan will slide right UNDER his opponent. If K is held, then he will extend his foot upwards, delivering a kick to their stomach, and knocking them across the screen. There's a short recovery time as Ryan is getting up from the kick, as opposed to the slide.

Lightning Curtain 

ch. d, (u or ul or ur) + K 

Ryan leaps up (or up-and-left or up-and-right) quickly. He reverses in mid-air and shoots straight up, leaving a sparking wake of lightning in wake. If he's already in the air, he drops, still leaving the electricity. However, there's more damage if you get hit by the kick, of course. 

This is a variation of the Flash Kick, so it has the same damage, priority, startup and recovery as a Flask Kick. And, like a Flash Kick, it can be blocked. 

Electronic Revolution

dp + A/C

Ryan shoots straight up, fist leading. If he connects, there's a brief detonation of sparking electricity and spraying water, followed by an unfolding spinning kick. He's completely invulnerable during the opening animation, due to the 'blades' of water circling him during his ascent.  

If C is hit, Ryan shoots _horizontally_ across the screen, in the first horizontal Dragon Punch since the Psycho Crusher. He's not invulnerable in this version, but he's _incredibly _fast. 

Hiryu-No-Ken

qcb, dp + K

Ryan leaps high in the air, into the corner of the screen (nearest corner), doing what appears to be a ka-ta. He then flies swiftly at his opponent and smashes them with a devastating flying kick. The move is auto aiming and reacts to the movement of the opponent. It's invincible at the starting animation, and only hits grounded opponents. Ryan becomes vulnerable at the point of attack if blocked (slow recovery... 2 sec.). This move does excellent damage and has _ridiculous_ priority... but its recovery time is absolutely _horrendous_, and what's even worse is that it's very nearly impossible to hit with it. After all, if the opponent sees it coming and ducks, it completely misses; and it's almost impossible to _not_ see it coming.

The Hiryu-No-Ken has a 50/50 chance of going through _any _projectile. So, if you do this move at the same time the opponent does a projectile…Well, someone's going to be very, very hurt.

Quote: **_"HI-RYU...NOOO...KEN!"_**

OR

**_"HIRYU! NO! KENNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!"_**

(Desperation)

_Ryan's Final Symphony_

qcf, qcf + P 

Ryan charges his opponent at a ludicrous speed, making lots of afterimages. If he connects, the screen flashes red, and Ryan goes berserk. He unleashes an incredible volley of blows, warping around like a maniac. Fifteen hits later, Ryan staggersteps, throws in a footsweep for knockdown, hits the opponent with another fist fusillade, and _punts _the poor bastard with all his might. This move must be blocked low, or at _least _five hits will connect. The greater the amount of Super Bar Ryan has left, the deadlier this move is.

(Desperation)

_Destiny Cyclone_

qcf, qcf + K 

Ryan rears back, bringing both overhead. He hits the floor with all his might, evoking a solid wall of wind. This tornado lasts about 2-3 seconds, and covers about half the screen. If someone was blocking, they get shoved to the other side, and can wait out the cyclone. But if they weren't, they're done for. The tornado picks 'em up, then hurls them away, where they'll hit the floor…Eventually. With a loud _crunch. _

After this super, Ryan is incapacitated for a few seconds shy of eternity. If you survived, now's the time to hit him.   

(Desperation)

_Storm Of Vengeance_

hcb, qcf + P

Ryan crouches down, crosses his arms. The wind picks up, and blows around his feet in an extremely cool effect. This is your cue to run at him and beat the crap out of him, of course. Holding C lets Ryan charge up, signified by the increasing rumbling and other ominous noises. There's a full second before he hits the power, ample time to stop or block. A fully charged Storm is incredibly powerful, and has to potential to weird out every metrologist on the same continent as he is.  

The attack itself manifests as bigass bolts of lightning, which scream down from above perpendicular to the ground. There's a deep, crashing boom which punctuates each assault, not to mention a flash of light. Usually, there's only one bolt. However, this number changes rapidly, if you have Super Bar to burn.

**(SUPER Desperation)**

_Storm Of Vengeance…_

**_REMIXED!!!_**

hcb, qcf, qcb + AC 

Yep, this is the BIG one. Pretty much the same thing as the 'normal' Storm, but _this_ time, Ryan sends the ENTIRE storm at the opponent. More lightning. Solid fists of water. Sometimes hail. Hurricane-force winds. But whatever it is, very few people can withstand it when Ryan commands the elements to annihilate the opponent.

(If the opponent SOMEHOW manages to survive this, Ryan will be extremely weakened. His speed and jump height will decrease greatly, too. In other words, if the opponent survives the SDM, Ryan's screwed. ^_^;

****

****

**Chan:**

Style:

The John Woo School Of We Don't Run Outta Ammo Here 

(Everything Looks Cooler In A Trenchcoat Substyle)

Button Style:

Standard, with Stand Button

1st round opening:

-- Starts with his back turned to his opponent. Turns around and says, "Let's go."   
  


-- Alternate 1: Points the Mage Cannon at the opponent, with his Stand aping his motions. 

-- Alternate 2: Begins looking at the floor, head down. Chan makes a big show of reloading the Mage Cannon, before saying "The mood is about to change."

-- Alternate 3: Chan strides in, sticks the Mage Cannon out. Bolts of lightning strike the weapon, charging it up.

Opening:

-- Cleans his glasses, then shoves them back on.

-- vs. Andro: Chan does a double-take, then shudders.   
  
-- vs. Jiazheng: "The Barber of Seville" starts playing. Jiazheng runs onscreen and chases  Chan offscreen with a knife; Chan comes back with a revolver; Jiazheng comes back with a shotgun; Chan returns with a matched pair of H Jiazheng returns with an Uzi; Chan returns with a disposable LAW rocket launcher; Jiazheng returns with a mine thrower (from Resident Evil 3); Chan drives a small tank back onscreen; Jiazheng comes back with his sword, Chan jumps out of the tank, and the fight begins normally. "Barber of Seville" ends with a turntable screech.   
  


-- vs. Kula: Both glide onscreen, past each other, skip off the ground, turn around in mid-air, and assume their stances. 

  
-- vs. Chan: There's an explosion offscreen. Smoking and charred, the challenger, clad in Chan's 2P outfit, dives onscreen with a look of absolute terror on his face. The 'normal' Chan walks onscreen, smoking Mage Cannon still in hand.

Chan #1 (Defender): Damn you! How many _more_ times must I kill you bastards?

Chan #2: At least one more time, man. 

The fight begins.

.   
-- vs. Shingo: Rolls his eyes and smirks. When Shingo's done, Chan produces a single $2 note and throws it at him. "Here. Buy a better opening, man." 

Taunt:

-- Chan strikes a mock kung-fu pose (Neo from the Matrix) and beckons his opponent forward. 

Victory Poses:

-- Chan runs his free hand through his hair, puts his hands in his pockets, and grins. 

  
--Pulls out a book, and reads off a few syllables. Freaky effects start appearing at the edges of the screen. 

  
-- (Desperation) Looks around dazedly, re-holsters the Mage Cannon, and then faints. 

-- Twirls his handgun, and does a Jotaro-Kujo point at his opponent. Once again, the Stand copies him.

-- Gingerly walks over to opponent, toes him/her. Chan looks at the screen, and asks: 

   "Is it dead yet?"

Draw:

-- Snaps Mage Cannon open, sending many, many shells cascading to the ground.

Loss to time:

-- Throws the Mage Cannon to the floor. It fires, and almost blows his feet off. 

Sayings:

-- "Next time you play this game, pick a better team." 

-- "Is there a slaughter rule?"   
-- "...and given strange eons, even Death can die."   
-- [Desperation] "Nice try. No, really. It was. Ow." ***Thud***

-- "The terror you feel in your heart and mind now is only natural. I would fear too if I sucked that bad."

Example combo: 

dashing LP, crouching LK, crouching HK, Burning Rave, Gun Jab.

[As if to remind you that he's a mage, Chan's projectile block is a simple extended hand. It looks fairly normal, unless he's blocking a beam, in which case the energy splits and goes around him like Tetsuo deflecting laser beams in _Akira_.] 

[Chan's powers change depending on whether his Stand is on or off. If his Stand is on, it's clearly visible, drifting just behind him like a ghost. His normals gain power and range, as does his toughness. Now, he doesn't go into premature hit-stun, and _can't _be hit out of his moves. However, he's much slower, and his specials become much weaker, as the Stand requires a LOT of concentration. Also, the Stand can be disrupted by a particularly furious assault, much like Guard Crush. Damage to the Stand is also damage to Chan, rendering it a BIG target.]

**Moves:**

Throw #1: Ticket to Ride 

close, f + D

Chan trips up the opponent, sticking out a leg to keep him down. Then, he kicks him once for good measure, before shooting him/her in the stomach.

Throw #2: Gun Jab

close, f + C

Chan _jabs _the Mage Cannon into the opponent's side, and pulls the trigger. This move ain't for the faint-hearted: In real life, it'll cover you with gore. In this game, it just hurts. A LOT.

Overhead: Hammerstrike

f + P

A fast pistol-whip with the business end of the Mage Cannon.

Anticipation Counter: 

Invocation Of Reversal

qcb, B/D

B Version: 

Chan shoves both hands ahead of him, creating a swirling lack vortex in midair. Holding down the button maintains the void. Any projectiles that fly in hurtle in from _another _hole that opens up right behind the opponent. Does squat against physical attacks, though.

D Version:

This time, Chan simply holds out one hand. If his opponent attacks, the strike bounces off his pentagram with a cool new effect, followed by a blast of force that hurls him/her away. 

Unfriendly Fire

qcf + any 

(Can be done in air)

Ah, the backbone of Chan's offense. Chan has _many, _many projectiles, many of which have seen use both in and out of the fights.

A: Magician's Bullet. A blast of something not-quite fire and not-quite lightning. Extremely effective against the supernatural, but very little damage to normal people. You can launch a _volley _of these bolts by rapidly tapping the button as fast as you can, releasing a volley of flickering blasts. Each successive bolt takes up roughly 1/10th of Chan's Super Bar. _This _is the reason why holy/profane bolts tend to be staple weapons for fighters worldwide. 

B: Malorius Arcanum. Basically? _Bad Magic/Hostile Magic. _Chan concentrates all his arcane might, and evokes up a coruscating blast of dark matter _right _where the opponent's standing. The effect's extremely cool: A black sphere appears, with three pentagrammic circles orbiting it. It detonates, sending rune fragments flying in all directions. The screen color also flashes purple-and-green, everything going into a bad photo negative's spectrum for a brief moment, before the explosion. 

C: Autopistol. Chan opens fire with his autopistol, firing all over the place in a random, automatic, and rather careless manner. The button may be held down with this weapon only for up to one second, with shots firing every .1 second the punch button is held. Direction of fire is random for each bullet, within the constraints of directly above him to directly below him passing through his line of sight. No lag at beginning, but a short lag at the end that increases slightly if the punch button is held. And let's not talk about reloading lag _this _time…   

D: Mage Cannon. Chan raises the Mage Cannon, and fires off a shot. AT close range, the 'unarmed' projectiles travel at bullet speed, not fireball speed, and trade hits with other fireballs (Does NOT cancel out other projectiles.) However, if the distance is far enough, the bullets turn into the flaming blasts of destruction Chan prefers. These bolts do stop projectiles, and travel at standard speed. If victory is achieved through these bolts, the message: "[Opponent] was disintegrated by Chan's BFG!!!" appears at the bottom corner of the screen. If the blasts miss, all is not lost: They detonate at the end of the screen, doing medium damage to the victim if he doesn't block, diddle damage if he blocks. If victory is achieved through these blasts, the message "[Opponent] couldn't hide from Chan's BFG blast!!!" pops up instead.  

Damage done is quite high, not to mention that repeated tapping makes him fire up to six times. Problems?

AFTER SIX SHOTS, HE HAS TO **_RELOAD_**. And that's very, very bad for you. The reloading animation is automatic at the sixth shot: Chan simply stands there like an idiot if you try to fire one more time. He snaps open the gun, draws a new clip and slams in it. If the animation is interrupted, he has to do it all over again.

Pentagram Curse

Hold C for three seconds, release. 

Chan points at his opponent, who flashes suddenly with a black aura. A hexagram snaps into existence around the opponent, slowing 'em down and sapping their strength. This drains Chan's Super Bar at a rapid rate, and does no immediate damage: However, the opponent is slowed, and loses life gradually. The lost life is added to Chan's lifebar. Of course, even the lightest jab on Chan dispels the pentagram, due to loss of concentration.

Pressing A+C detonates the pentagram, blowing the opponent away in a brief explosion. Oddly enough, blocking cuts the damage down to a more manageable level. A great tactic is to cast the spell, then use Chan's other powers to stay away from the opponent, and generally make his life hell.  

Flintlock Dragon

dp + P

Chan drags his right knuckles across the ground for couple of feet (his fist glows whilst he's dragging it) and then does a vertical dragon punch. Drag distance and height of the DP are determined by the strength of the button used. Why? 'Cause everyone and their grandmother has a Dragon Punch these days.

Burning Rave

qcb + p

(starts charge) 

Chan charges his opponent, ducking low. He slashes away with the Mage Cannon as he runs, wielding it like a melee weapon. Now, _guns _are meant for shooting people, but Chan's weapon is well-balanced and sharp enough to be used as a bludgeon. Of course, the Stand's help doesn't hurt either. Chan slashes five times: On the fifth hit, the move can be finished by…

f + P: Gun Jab

qcf + K: The Emperor's sword appears in Chan's hands. He finishes with a neato two-handed side-to-side slash, spinning his opponent across the battlefield.

hcb + K:  Chan slaps a Hexagram Curse onto the opponent. He leaps back, and punches the palm of his hand, right before the spell explodes.

hcf  + P: Igniting himself with blue flames, Chan tackles at his opponent. If he hits, Chan grabs him/her, and _pumps _his magic into their body, kicking them aside in a flaming heap.

FUSION TECHNIQUE #213: STAND INTEGRATION

ABCD (With Stand on.)

Chan flashes briefly, and then strikes a cool pose. The Stand hurtles into him, and promptly gets absorbed. There's a blue glow, and Chan's alters _slightly _(The trenchcoat gains new runic markings). He _also _draws the Stand's weapon, and hefts it in both hands. For the Emperor, that's a sword. But if it's Requiem…Run, 'cause he still uses the Mage Cannon. 

Chan gets a small health bonus, and his speed increases by a sizable amount. Also, all punch attacks now involve swipes with the aforementioned weapon, and do a _lot _more damage. He's ever-so-slightly tougher, and starts to gradually regenerate life.  There's also a new block: Chan brings his weapon up, and braces it with his other arm against the attack.

_However, _there ARE some drawbacks. First, Chan's Super Bar starts going down rapidly, and all his normal moves involving the Mage Cannon are extremely laggy. He also loses all his throws, and has a much longer recovery time. Also, he can't use the Stand-related moves. Finally…He looks kinda stupid.

Pressing ABCD will end the integration.

Quote:

[Integration]: "_Now _you've done it."

[De-Fusion]: "Eh…You got lucky." 

Sniper Air 

hcf + K 

Chan smashes out with a vicious swing, helped by a handy boost from his stand. If he connects, he kicks his opponent into the air, and empties the Mage Cannon into their chest, blasting them even further away. Heavy damage, but short range and easy to dodge.

Desperado Dodge

 bb + K

Chan dashes backward _very _quickly, trailing ghost images. Basically a teleport-dodge: Invulnerable to non-throw attacks as he runs, but can be thrown quite easily, as the entire path of his run counts as grabbable (even if it looks like he's run past the opponent already). Strength of the button determines range; using kick results in a simple teleport, with a small window of recovery time. He snaps the Mage Cannon open and starts reloading as he warps, _quickly _finishing when he comes to a stop. This is the only way to reload whilst avoiding the hellish delay.

Stand Assault 

hcb + A/C 

Chan's Stand hurtles across the screen, hacking away with its respective attack: A sword slash for the Emperor, a lunging bite for Requiem. Chan's free to move and to launch more projectiles as need be, but his Stand freezes for a second after the move, a perfect opportunity for you to beat the ever-loving crap out of it. The 'assault' in question varies on the buttons pressed. If the Stand is summoned, Chan auto-charges, once again flailing away with the Mage Cannon in an attempt to do some damage. 

A: _Angel Slayer. _The Stand dashes toward the opponent, weapon leading. It swings the sword around four times: down, up, left-to-right and a 360 degree spinning slash, meant for anyone who tries to roll away. 

Bug vs Kula: When he does the Angel Slayer against her, just as the Stand's about to bring the blade down on her, he lands and she looks at him with SD eyes. He can't bring himself to hit her with it, so he just jumps back. Poor guy.

C: _Overdrive. _This is more powerful than the Angel Slayer. Of course, it only goes off if the startup attack hits. The Emperor lunges across the screen, and does a powerful uppercut swing. If it hits, the Stand promptly leaps up and slashes the opponent with a two-handed jumping swing, followed by a massive horizontal slash, and ended by the same 360-degree slash, which forces the opponent across the screen at extreme speeds.

(Desperation)__

_Final Judgment / Wachowski Fu_

(A.K.A_ Destroy All Granite_) 

qcf, qcf, A/C

Every member on the DHS team has an attack that begins with the word 'Final', and it tends to be a big, painful move. In this case, Chan aims the Mage Cannon, drawing the hammer back with a particularly loud 'click'. He pulls the trigger, and sends _both _the Emperor and a bullet hurtling at the opponent. One second lag on startup, and a good 1.75 seconds or so lag after she launches, which is another way of saying "Don't miss if you care to live."

 If the bullet connects, the opponent is left open to a continuous barrage from Chan's autopistol, as he proceeds to fill his opponent with large amounts of hot lead, seemingly no longer constrained by the rules of 'ammo'. The Stand joins in the asswhupping, adding to the pain by the careful application of a "Fist of the North Star"-like sledgehammer barrage of fists. Moderate damage if everything connects, but the Super is fast enough and BIG enough to cancel out almost any other kind of projectile attack.

Why the low damage?

And lo, there were blanks. And lo, John Woo rejoiced.

(Desperation)

_Genocide_

qcf, hcb + K 

Chan snaps out a brief spell, swirling his hands in elaborate patterns. There's a brief lag, right before everything around him begins to explode. The move goes about a quarter of the screen to BOTH sides of Chan (he takes out about half the screen in total). This move hurts like hell, taking away a large chunk of life in one hit! God forbid the opponent falls on the explosion twice! _Great _anti-air move.

After all the explosions, Chan gasps for air for a few moments, before he has enough strength to continue. Once again, this is the time to hit him, as the pause is coincidentally a good substitute for painting a bullseye on your forehead.

(Desperation)

_THE WORLD _

_(Level 3)_

f, hcf, rev. dp + B + C

The circle around Chan's feet flickers into vivid life, as he screams "THE WORLD!!!" The screen flashes black, and all color drains out from the battlefield, leaving it in monochrome shades of stark black-and-white. _Everything _(and I mean _everything_) is completely frozen in place, leaving Chan perfectly free to run around and hammer his opponent for nine seconds. Just to add to the misery, his frozen opponent _cannot _block. _However, _all things present on the screen are still in effect, meaning that Chan can't run through a fireball or a barrier. Also, all hits inflicted are considered part of a combo, meaning that they do decreasing damage with each hit. If the opponent survives, he gets blasted away from Chan, courtesy of an automatic hit from the Stand (no damage.) Incidentally, there _is _one defense against this move. Basically? Jump. Only Chan's Flintlock Dragon has a chance of reaching you if you're in the air…Maybe. 

**(SUPER Desperation)**

**POSTAL**

qcf, qcf  + AC

Chan whips out a freakishly large arsenal of modern/futuristic weapons, all mated to two large triggers. Glowing a disturbing shade of red, he braces himself, and starts screaming "DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE-" (You get the idea), right before he proceeds to blast the hell out of the opponent, with a volley of gunfire not seen since Arnold's latest movie. Hell, most of the guns used in the barrage don't even _exist-_Not yet, at least. The barrage fires all over the place in a random, automatic, and rather careless manner in some fashion of direction in front of him, placing a crater in the approximate position of the opponent, a half-screen wide and loosely aimed. By the time he stops, the background (and hopefully the opponent) has been reduced to a shredded mess. You can see the spectators in the background running like hell, rapidly vacating their seats as quickly as humanely possible.

Thus far, chainguns, several rocket launchers, heavy plasma launchers, RPGs, railguns and a single BFG have featured prominently in the barrage. This is the kind of weaponry you use to take out _armies, _especially considering the huge jump in technology between there and then. As stated before, that's a _lot _of 'pain and suffering' flying through the air. Note that Andro's Army Of One SDM might be able to counter this move, quite probably to the detriment of both fighters. 

In Chan's own words? 

"They both blow up real good."

**Andro:**

Style:

Unknown. _Technically _Street-fighting, with modifications. 

Button Style:

Standard

1st round opening:

--The screen starts flickering on-and-off, as static momentarily engulfs the TV. When it fades, Andro's there. 

-- Reality seems to suck in at a particular spot, which then pops back to normal, disgorging Andro. 

-- A portal open. Andro dives through, and rolls to his feet.

-- Andro begins facing away from his opponent, arms crossed. He turns around, uncrosses his arms. The blades slide out with cool noises, gleaming momentarily in the light. 

Opening:

-- Flexes hands and neck, which resound with loud popping noises.   
-- Andro has no special openings against any character. In addition, those that have special openings against him have a peculiar handicap: If their opener takes longer than Andro's standard opener, he doesn't wait for them to finish, and begins fighting a brief interval after his opening animation finishes. 

Taunt:

-- Tosses head in a "come on" gesture, says "Hmph."

Victory poses:

-- Gestures menacingly at fallen victim.   
-- [on time] says, "What is a cheap way to win, Alex?"   
-- Turns to the screen, and asks "Afraid of the dark?"

-- Standard "I'm so cool the wind blows whenever I win, rustling my hair" pose. 

Draw:

-- nukes a random spectator.

Loss to time:

-- Fades back into the shadows, and vanishes. 

Sayings:

-- "I would like to say that it was a good fight, except that it wasn't."   
-- "It has become painfully apparent that your only intention was to waste my time."   
-- "I would much rather destroy the pathetic than to suffer them to exist. You are an example of this philosophy in action."   
-- "Geh."   
-- "…Suffer."   
-- [Desperation] "…And in the day, we talk about anything but night."

Example combo:

Cross-up roundhouse, standing close fierce (2 hits), follow up with the Aerial Slayer, then Heaven's Dance.

[Andro is DHS's answer to Strider Hiryu. He's THE speed-and-priority character for the team, and has the same hellishly long juggle-combos. However, to balance that out, he takes one-and-a-half times the damage all the other characters suffer from the same hits. Actually, you don't really _need _Andro's special move to inflict damage…He's perfectly capable of hacking his opponents to pieces all by himself, rendering him deadly even in the hands of a beginner. All of his moves involve getting as close as possible to the opponent, so that he can hurt them badly with his normals.] 

**Moves:**

Throw #1:

The Suffering 

close, f + P

Reaches out, grabs opponent's arm, and twists. The victim flips and falls to the ground, to the accompaniment of a snapping sound, as bones give way like twigs.

Throw #2:  

Shattered Dreams

close, f + K

Andro grabs his victim and kicks his midsection multiple times, before slamming them into the ground repeatedly. 

Blitz Kick

 qcb + K

Triple kick hitting low, then to the midsection, then to the head, followed by either a spinning back kick or a sweep. The second and third kicks are preceded by a short skid forward. The D version starts with the triple-kick, into a spinning back-kick to the head, followed by two jumping spinkicks to the torso and head, which knocks Andro's opponent to the ground. It doesn't continue if the first strike misses, though.

Anticipation Counter: Farevoir Counter Series

hcb + P, tap P

Pitiful range. Excellent speed and priority and can be used to "fish". Essentially a counter move. Used to counterattack an opponent. Can be used to counter any type of physical move, even supers, but the timing is very sensitive. Useless against projectiles and throw maneuvers. Andro brings both blades up in the classic cross-block maneuver, waiting for the opponent to strike. When he/she does, Andro bats away the attack, and counters with a rapid series of stabbing strikes. The damage done with a full-out button mash can be quite considerable. 

Shadow Rush

Charge b, f + any

A fast dash (almost a teleport), with a short skid at the end. During the move, an attack may be performed with any of the buttons: 

A: [Nami-Wave]   
Andro slashes with both arm-blades as he skids to a stop, a rapid-cross-slash series. Low damage, but decent priority. 

B: [Arashi-Storm]   
Andro dashes past his opponent, and skids to a quick halt _right _behind them. If someone successfully grabs him, he'll trip, and skid across the floor on his face. Ow.

C: [Soyokaze-Gentle Breeze]   
Andro lands a skidding sidekick to his opponent's knee. If he hits, a second Andro then teleports in front of the opponent to toss a haymaker to his face. Both Andros wind up, spin around, and hit their hapless opponent with a double backfist as he falls, knocking him into the background. Hurts like fuck, racks up the dizzy meter, and is probably the single most visually impressive move Andro has.  

D: [Shitenshuu-Death Touch]

Andro strikes at the opponent's throat as he dashes past, sends more red fluid spurting into the air. If he connects, the victim collapses in shock, twitching slightly. This move costs half a Super Bar: If it connects, it starts to drain the opponent's Super Bar, at a rate of 1/10th per second, for the next second. When used as a killing blow, it'll drain one-and-half Super Bars, flat-out. For characters of unusual size, Andro will adjust the height of his attack,

Shadow Edge

qcf + P

(Can be done in air.)

This is Andro's _only_ fireball attack. In the A-version, Andro hurls three throwing stars (The Blades Of Reason) forward, sending the razor-sharp metal splinters hurtling all the way across the screen. There's a _lot _of blood when they hit…Andro's moves tend to _look _extremely painful. 

In the C version, Andro draws one hand back, and makes a whip-like motion. Wickedly edged knives of Shadow whistle toward the opponent at an extremely high velocity, drawing blood even when successfully blocked. As blocking sharp objects isn't a very good idea, Andro's projectiles do excellent block damage.

Heaven's Dance

dp + P

Andro will dash forward briefly before landing on the ground. If he connects with an opponent, he'll pass right _through_ them without apparent effect. However, the opponent will find himself unable to perform any attacks before he lands, in which case they collapse to the ground as an explosion of blood erupts from their abdomen. After performing this move, Andro will kneel on the ground for a second to recover. 

Sliding Takedown

dp + K

A slide that can pass under fireballs higher than a low Tiger Shot. The slide has about the range of Dhalsim's slide, and is therefore very useful against fireball traps. If the slide connects, the victim finds his legs tangled up, and if this were real life, one of them would be broken. Instead, it just does some pretty good damage. Can't go around breaking limbs in a fighting game, can we? :) Blockable.

Aerial Slayer 

qcb + K 

(air)

Andro leaps up, slicing away with both blades. If he hits his opponent in midair, he slashes the hell out of his opponent with a six-hit assault, right before turning the final move into an overkillish bicycle kick, with the opponent's head still attached to his foot. _Hurts…_'cause if you were stupid enough to be hit, it's your own fault.

In the air, two trailing shadows follow Andro as he dives for his opponent, no matter what his current position in the air. If he hits, Andro'll grab his opponent, flip over, and perform a _completely _different (and cooler) combo from behind. 

Rush Marine _(Soul Duplicate) _

hcb + P

Andro begins the attack with a blockable, but invincible charge. The run, due to the damage it precedes, has an _extremely _short range. If, God forbid, he connects, Andro opens a can of whupass, punishing the opponent with every technique he knows. The rest of the series is _extremely _complicated, but worthwhile to pull off:

F, F + K: Andro does Terry Bogard's Crack Shot.

qcb + P:  Andro does a nasty spinning backslash, followed by a cross-slice, and ended by his launcher.

hcf + K: Andro summons up his internal strength, and creates a shadowy duplicate of himself, _just _before the opponent hits the ground. He runs up his side of the screen, and does a Vega-like leap toward the opponent. If nothing is pressed, he'll land on the opponent feet-first, crushing the guy's neck under his boots.

fdf, reverse dp + P: Andro twists in midair, blades extending to their full length. Both Andros tears into their opponent with what some call 'A Legend At Work' and what others call a 'High-Speed Flaying'. There's a small explosion at the final move, as the duplicate crashes into the opponent from above. Most normal people tend to hit the ground in neat, cubed chunks. As there's no decapitation in this game, they simply get very, very badly hurt. There's an incredible amount of agony if you do this move right…However, the last move burns an entire Super Bar, if you connect properly. (All things considered, it's worth it.)

Sky Cutter 

 hcf + K

Instead of waiting to make contact, Andro leaps into an overhead arc kick, his outstretched leg leaving a wake of electricity; comparisons to the Genocide Cutter are perhaps inevitable at this point. He'll travel about a quarter-screen distance, and goes just high enough to hurdle a fireball if need be, although you'd need exquisite timing to do it. 

If he hits a grounded opponent, he immediately pivots off his back leg and shoots straight back up, sort of like a reversed Lightning Curtain, adding another hit. Andro will do this even if the Sky Cutter is blocked. 

Confiscation

Reverse dp. + A/C

Andro crouches with his arms down at an angle, then lunges forward, disappears, and reappears on the other side of his opponent, who appears stunned. He looks at the ball of purple energy in his hands and clenches his fist, absorbing the energy. Opponent unfreezes. 1 hit, no damage. Steals a random attack move (the name of the move appears above Andro). The stolen move cannot be used by his opponent for 15 timer seconds (then the move wears off). Also, the move replaces one of Andro's own, preferably with the same button combination. For example, stealing the Shingo kick would replace Andro's 'hcf + K' move. _Cannot _be done twice, if Andro's has already 'stolen' a move.__

NOTE: this move is telegraphed, unblockable, and goes through projectiles & special moves if timed right. It CAN catch you 1 inch off the ground. 

Quote: "_Starve_, bastard!"  Or "Excuse me."  

(Desperation)

_Razor Assault_

qcf, qcf + A/C

Andro stands back, glows for a moment, and throws 36 Shadow Edges, one after the other. At the end of the move, he pauses for a second, down on one knee, in a slight crouch. If you somehow dodged the Assault, now is the time to hit him. 

If done at point-blank range, the Razor Assault hits 48 times, as his opponent is caught in his flurry of slashes. Anyone struck by the Assault, whether they block or not, will be pushed all the way across the screen. The Razor Assault comes out quickly enough that it can interrupt and cancel out another beam super, and does so on a one-for-one hit exchange.

(Desperation)

_Shadow Break_

_(Formerly Final Showdown)_

hcb, dp + A/C

Andro blurs, then vanishes. He reappears one second later, attacking his opponent with a punch, then vanishes again. He repeats this eight more times, throwing in a spinning thrust kick around the sixth hit, before he _really _unloads. The first twelve hits look a lot like your standard beatdown super, as Andro punches and kicks with unnatural speed. After the thirteenth hit, Andro goes for his blades. Nine more hits pass, faster than most people could follow, and his opponent, on the other hand, sprays blood from a dozen wounds and falls down. 

Quote: [Just before the Teleport] "Shadow…" [During The Last Strike] …_Break_!"

(Desperation)

_Dreaming The Dark_

qcb, hcf + B/D

Andro waves one arm, and a wave of darkness sweeps forward from him, obscuring the background. If his opponent is on the ground and isn't blocking, he's paralyzed, and the whole screen goes black. About once a second, a different frame is flashed of Andro landing a hit on his opponent, like he was fighting while lit by a strobe light. Fifteen hits later, the screen lights back up. If used as a finisher, Andro strikes his win pose, as his opponent slowly keels over.

(**SUPER Desperation)**

**_Army Of One_**

hcb, reverse dp, qcf, C+D 

Andro looks up at his opponent, snarls, and charges him as an army of duplicates begin to storm the screen. The result, should the opponent forget to block, is a severe beating in the best Custom Combo tradition, except that the "real" Andro gets lost somewhere along the way, and the occasional duplicate sneaks in behind the opponent. When the move ends, an exhausted Andro reappears across the screen from his opponent.

The duplicates can be countered, blocked, dodged, or even ACed, but one has to be very fast on the stick or very tricky to avoid them all. Teleporting, flying, a well-timed series of jumps and blocks, or something like the Orochi Nagi can all counter this, but the move lasts for about ten seconds. With luck and skill, the duplicates can be counterhit or avoided for a little while, but eventually, they'll wear down an opponent by sheer volume.

**Jiazheng**

Style:

Bushido

Button Style:

Standard

1st round opening:

-- Jiazheng, walking idly onscreen, notices the opponent, whaps himself in the head, "Not again...", and reaches for his sword.

-- Alternate 1: Stands straight and unsheathes his sword an inch using his thumb, before resheathing it and getting into his usual stance. 

-- Alternate 2: Bow gracefully and says, "Fight well." Pauses, then says: "I mean, fight _badly."_

_-- _Alternate 3: Jiazheng takes a few practice swings with his katana, and then goes into his pose. Note the sparks of green flame around the bat.

Opening:

-- Straightens his hair (his degree of success depending on which outfit he's in) looks around, notices opponent and gets into normal stance.   
-- Draws his sword. "Aku." Points it at the opponent. "Soku." Slashes downward and resheathes his sword. "Zan."   
-- Growls, whips out a small SD doll of opponent, tosses it in the air, and uses sword to reduce it to paper-thin cross sections which float lightly to the ground.

-- Jiazheng does one of the above three poses, but a green-flame demon-thing rises behind him and chuckles towards the end. Jiazheng blinks and looks behind him, but it vanishes before he can see it. "... huh."

Taunt:

-- Looks towards screen, shrugs. 

Victory poses:

-- Adjusts his gloves, energy emanating from his left hand.   
-- Draws his sword, does three slashes, and spins his sword before resheathing it. 

(Randomly, Jiazheng will _accidentally _slide the sword into his leg instead. He'll look down, freak out, and collapse.)  
-- Takes a very Shingo-like stance and shouts, "Yoooooooooshii!" 

-- Sheathes katana, turns away from screen, arms folded, a slight breeze ruffles his hair.  
-- [desperation] Coughs twice. ^_- 

Draw:

-- Draws his sword and wipes it clean with a cloth, a mild look of contempt on his face.

Loss to time:

-- Leans against his sword like a cane. "Not bad."

Sayings:

-- "This is your ass. This is your ass getting handed to you. Any questions?" 

-- "He slices! He dices! Look at that tomato! You could even cut a tin can with him-- but you wouldn't... want tooooo!"

-- "I learned to fight from the best; I guess you learned to bleed from the best."

-- "The more blood you draw, the more my strength grows. Ouch."

-- "You win? No? Good. Means I did it right."

-- [vs. Ryan] "OH MY GOD! WE KILLED RYAN! WE'RE **_BASTARDS_**! Sorry, just had to."  
-- [desperation] "..."

Example combo:

jump D, C, df + C, Anrui - Chi dashing C, Sinistral

  
**Moves:**

Throw #1: Cutter Reverse

f/b + C (close)

Jiazheng grabs the opponent, slams his right fist (and his sheathed sword) into the opponent's face, spins clockwise to slam his right elbow into the opponent's gut, and then turns back the other way to perform a slash that knocks the opponent into the far wall.

Throw #2:

Final Cut

f/b + D (close)

Gently tosses sword up, end-over-end. While it's in the air,  hits with a left-right-left-backfist combo. He finishes by catching the sword as it falls and instantly performing a backhanded slash across his opponent's chest.

Overhead: Tanegashima Stomp

b + B

Jiazheng performs a downward thrust kick, planting his foot into the opponent's gut and pushing forward/down. Note that if the opponent is ducking, then Jiazheng ends up planting his foot into his/her forehead, slamming him/her backwards and into the ground with a heavy stomp.

Anticipation Counter:   
Ryu Kan Sen Ikazuchi

f, b + A

Jiazheng swings his sheath forward. If an opponent attacks, he knocks the opponent's attack away, continues spinning around while he draws his sword, and uses his momentum to nail his opponent with a counterclockwise slash. 

Sinistral

Reverse dp. + P 

Jiazheng lays into the opponent with a left elbow, a right elbow, a left hook, a spinning right backhand, an upwards palm strike to the opponent's chin, and finally, a shoulder charge that knocks the opponent into the wall. His _only _unarmed attack.

Ground Zero

 qcf + P

A: Razor Wind. This move was developed with a _lot _of help from Andro. Jiazheng slashes at the air, creating a crescent-shaped blast of wind that flies across the screen. If blocked, it does no damage; if it hits, it does light and blows an opponent all the way across the screen, although they remain on their feet. Holding down the button increases the force of the wind.

C: Emerald Shockwave. Jiazheng slams his katana into the floor instead, sending a line of green flame racing across the ground towards his opponent. 

Anrui

qcb + P

Jiazheng drops into a low crouch for a moment, holding his katana up. It acts as a block as any attack aimed at him. It can be followed up by any button press, after the initial qcb + P motion:

A: Hitotsu. Jiazheng slashes twice before resheathing his sword. Standard combo finisher

B: Chi. Jiazheng upward with his sword. If it connects, Jiazheng spins around, slamming the impaled opponent's head into the ground behind him. Will only connect on an airborne opponent.

C: Ten. Jiazheng draws his sword and slashes vertically. The angle of the slash makes it an acceptable anti-air move. _Fast._

D: Mujokan. Jiazheng swings the katana forward, impossibly fast in a horizontal arc. A thin silver line forms: It grows brightly and the opponent is caught by a violent slash.  

Power Drive 

hcf  + K

A sort of "mini-super" dashing attack. Jiazheng runs forward, tossing his katana into the air, to land a left-right-left combination, ending with a low punch to the stomach. At this point, it can be left alone, and the opponent will fall to the ground, _or_:

…Switchblade. (f + D,D). Jiazheng's wakizashi _snaps _into his hands. He promptly stabs it into his opponent, and takes his time yanking the blade out.

…Amok. (b, qcf + A) Jiazheng teleports back, grabs his katana and teleports to his opponent again, lashing out with a two-handed forward slash that knocks the opponent into Low Earth Orbit. Note that the opponent can Throw Escape out of this.

…Million Knives. (hcb + AC) Jiazheng teleports back, hurling three Razor Winds in rapid succession. He pauses for a second, yells, and slashes downward in an X pattern, releasing a single large Razor Wind that rips up the floor on the way to the opponent.

Channel

 D, D, A+C

Jiazheng doubles over, screams, then lashes out with a BIG blast of flame all around him, arms outstretched and body almost doubled over backwards (think Iori b'fore he lays the Maiden Masher SDM Riot-of-the-Blood smackdown). Excellent priority, damage and range... but does 10% damage to him. He can NOT perform a Channel is he's at or under 10% health. Once done, he'll return to his normal stance, his katana covered in green flames. It'll burn for the rest of the round, granting him increased damage and priority. Unfortunately, the fires stop burning after the next three special moves. Use it well. 

Force Spike

 hcb + K

Jiazheng performs an short upwards palm thrust aimed towards the opponent's chin. If he successfully grabs the opponent, he'll hold them slightly off the ground by the neck as his glove begins to glow, burning the opponent (and slowly draining from his bar in the process). Mash on the K button to increase the effect. At maximum power, after about half a level's worth of drain, Jiazheng's glove detonates, knocking the opponent away in a massive explosion.

Deadly Rave

 hcb + P

Another of those famous multipart moves. The A version is completely stationary, while the C version has a quick dash forward. Hit another button at any time, for:

A: Dominion Strike. Jiazheng rushes forward, sword held out. If connects, he blurs, running a massive horizontal slash across the screen. He ends up behind the opponent, katana held out to one side, as a large gout of blood spouts from a new wound on the opponent's body.

B: Concussion. Jiazheng grips the katana with both hands, bringing it down in an _extremely _powerful Heaven-To-Earth Cut. There's a spherical explosion of white loud, punctuated by a deafening noise. If he hits the opponent, he does hellish damage, as a deadly explosive blast flings the victim's broken body away. If not, a massive cloud of smoke is blown up, completely obscuring Jiazheng's portion of the screen for a few seconds. 

C: Betrayer. Just before striking the opponent, Jiazheng spins 'round, to connect with a behind-the-back slash. *Badass* damage, but slow startup. Also, it does damage to Jiazheng too, draining half a Super Bar.

Sword Upper

 dp + A/C

Jiazheng does a standard sword upper, leaping up to slice around him with a massive katana slash. _However, _he's holding the wakizashi in his _other _hand. The standard trick of walking in after a Dragon Punch will only get you cut here.

(Desperation)

_Musouzanko_

qcf, qcf + P

Jiazheng runs forward with an inch of his sword drawn out of his sheath. If he connects, he runs around the opponent at ludicrous speed, slashing the opponent several times in the frame of a couple of seconds. When he returns to normal velocity, he skids to a halt behind the opponent, sword drawn. He spins his sword, and the moment he resheathes it, the opponent's body contorts as blood spurts from the many, many, many cuts that Jiazheng just inflicted on his foe.

(Desperation)

_Oblivion_

 hcb, qcf + K

A trick he learned from his old sensei. Jiazheng draws the sword from his sheath with a lightning-quick slash. If he connects at point-blank range, the opponent gets rocked with a massive slash as Jiazheng resheathes his sword. Jiazheng's slash releases a powerful shockwave, which appears as a _D! Magnum-size_ distortion, appearing a fraction of a second after the slash and lasting an instant. In either case, if the move is blocked or whiffs (the projectile version can easily miss if the opponent is in the air), Jiazheng drops to one knee to catch his breath before resheathing his sword, during which the opponent can easily counterattack.

(Desperation)

_Musashi no Shuugeki_

 dp, hcb + P

Whips out his katana and wakizashi and starts doing the Musouzanko on crack and steroids. He will continue to do so until seven seconds elapse or he gets hit out of the move. During the blaze of swords, Jiazheng can jump, move, or even dash forward, but cannot turn around. If, gods forbid, he hits at the very start, this super will pull an opponent's life down by half, varying from when the opponent got sucked in. Block damage is decent, especially if the opponent has to block the whole thing. This move has insane priority to the point where it will eat five seconds worth of any frontal attack-- even a beam super-- and suck in anyone who touches the slash area, but if _none_ of the slashes connect cleanly, the recovery time is pretty much suicidal, as Jiazheng catches his breath for two seconds/five clicks or so.

This one does big damage (with one Bar), really big damage (two Bars), or Oh Hell What On Earth Was That damage (three Bars)... if you were stupid enough to get caught by it.

**_Terrible Swift Sword_**

hcb, hcf + AC

This is perhaps the deadliest move amongst the entire DHS Team. Thank God it's an SDM…Jiazheng glows, holding his sheathed katana with one hand. Careful observers will note that he holds the fragment of another, far more ancient sword near the hilt for the briefest of moments. He then leaps into midair, rips the sword from his scabbard, and brings it down with all his might. Nothing special so far, right? 

But _this _time, the katana lengthens and widens, a 'virtual' image developing around the blade. By the time it finally hits the ground, it's roughly ten stories long and one wide, turning the blade into an impossibly heavy, flaming mallet of sharpened steel, big enough to take prime cuts out of Godzilla. Technically, he could chop a building in half with it, if he really wanted to. Covers the entire screen. 

Now, this attack _can't _be blocked. I mean, block something _that _sharp? You _got _to be kidding. The tick damage alone is more than enough to kill anyone. Teleporting doesn't work either, as you can't teleport forever, and the impact is pretty likely to knock you out of the move. (Teleporting _behind _Jiazheng does work, though.) Can't be dissipated, countered, or reflected either, as it's too darn big and too darn powerful. 

All this power, though, comes at a price. Jiazheng is _extremely _vulnerable during the opening animation: He's not invulnerable at _any _point, and even the lightest jab will knock him out of it. Of course, by the time he's in the air, you'll wish you were in the next country. This move is all of the above, cause if you were stupid enough to let him hit you with the sword, you _deserve _to die.


	18. The Team Bios: Mark II!

**Character Bios: Mark II**

**Name:** Chan "Burnout" Yong Sheng

**Age: **17

**Birthday:** September 27, 1984

**Favorite food:** Mee Pok (Singaporean noodles), anything with meat.

**Hobby:** Writing, Web surfing

**Most Important:** Requiem, Mage Cannon, Family 

**Dislikes**: The "Authority", Insects, NESTS. (He considers them about the same.)

**Fighting Style:** Marksmanship/ Stand-wielding.

**Theme Song:** 'I'm Just A Kid' (Simple Plan)

"My gun is mightier than the sword…Remember these words of wisdom."

**Appearance:**

            Chan has grown somewhat since his first trip to Tokyo, in both height and maturity…(Yeah, right.) Well, in height, at least. Maybe not maturity.

            He looks like your typical teenager, with the glasses he always wears to correct his vision. Chan doesn't particularly stand out in a crowd, unlike some of his teammates. He has no major distinguishing features, and simply seems, well, _normal._

However, the rest of his outfit is anything but ordinary. Chan wears a long, off-white trenchcoat, with his school badge neatly pinned on the left side of the collar. His  blue jacket was given to Kula Diamond a year ago, something which Ryan never fails to tease him about. (Chan's main reaction to ANY MENTION of that is the serious threat of Mage Cannon death.)

Classic fingerless gloves and a black undershirt round out the ensemble, with the Mage Cannon riding in a holster by Chan's side. The ornate, rune-engraved Magnum spits fireballs in Chan's hands, which can blow holes in almost any solid object. It's just a normal-albeit powerful- gun in the hands of others. The Mage Cannon is Chan's favorite weapon, and he relies on it far more than his fist or feet. 

Chan always favors loose clothing that grants him freedom of motion, and tries his best to assume a professional air. As you can guess, it ain't easy, sometimes making him seem more like a boy pretending to be an adult than anything else. He's rarely alone, except when he really wants privacy. If you see him, it's a good guess that either Ryan or Andro are not far away. 

            His Stand, the mutated World-Eater Requiem, looks like a massive, slightly reptilian knight clad in a layer of steel armor, with two HUGE cannons crudely grafted to its back. Only a portion of its powers are currently available to Chan. 

**Bio:**

            Since Chan got back from his KOF tournament, he's had a difficult time adjusting back to normal life at home and in school. Chan basically spent most of the year studying, and attempting to get used to his normal life again.

            Fortunately for him, his parents knew nothing about what had transpired overseas, due to the lack of media coverage in Singapore. They thought that he'd simply gone on an extended field trip, with a few old classmates.

            Anyway, he spent several sleepless nights wondering whether the next NESTS assassin was going to crash through the window and try to kill him. (Unknown to him, there was no way in hell they could touch him in Singapore.)

            After coming to the conclusion that he was perfectly safe in Singapore, Chan promptly heaved a sigh of relief, and decided never to leave the country again. However, Ryan and Andro convinced him to finish what he started, returning to Japan one more time to ensure the downfall and destruction of NESTS.

            Frankly, Chan was bored out of his mind, after yet another long, grinding year of toil and study. Happily, he agreed, digging his handgun and trenchcoat out from the bottom of his closet. Even if there was a hell lot of danger in the way, he was already at the point where he didn't give a damn.

            Except for his mutated Stand, Chan hasn't changed all that much from the previous year. He's a bit more gloomy, and also slightly crazier than he used to be, but he's still the guy from KOF 2000.

            The real change is in his movelist and his powers. Unknown to Chan, Requiem does not like to follow his orders, and attempts to resist whatever he forces it to do, failing at critical moments. Thankfully, Chan now channels blue energy reminiscent of the Zero Cannon to make up for that loss, though it's more of a stopgap measure than anything else.

**Fighting Strategy:**

            He might talk big, but Chan has an abnormal fear of pain. Projectiles? Against him? Good luck. The trick to beating Chan is to get in close. Real close. If you can do that, he's so much dead meat on a stick. Of course... that's why he's a keepaway freak. However, Chan isn't completely helpless at point-blank range. With nasty surprises like his Flintlock Dragon Shoryuken uppercut as well the fits-all-needs Requiem Punch and Blue Demon, he's deadly at any range…As long as you have Super Bar to burn. When that runs out…Well, that's when Chan's _really _screwed. He never learnt any formal combat training, rendering his unpowered punches and kicks less effective than usual, though World-Eater itself strikes with the force of an avalanche. He's also the slowest member on the DHS Team…But as everyone else is really fast, that's not saying a lot.

**Striker: World-Eater Assault/ Last Shot**

            If the opponent is close, Requiem appears, and strikes out with a flurry of punches. It's an effective moving wall, and it cannot be hit out of the move. However, if the opponent is far away, Chan fires a fast Mage Cannon shot from offscreen, avoiding any risk to himself. It's very good at knocking an opponent out a move.

**Name:** Ryan "Quicksilver" Lim

**Age: **17

**Birthday:** 13 January, 1984

**Favorite food:** Alcohol, Pizza

**Hobby:** Listening to music.

**Most Important:** Computer's Broadband access, Linkin Park tunes 

**Dislikes**: Homework, studying…You get the idea.

**Fighting Style:** Jeet Kun Do/ Elemental Manipulation 

**Theme Song:** 'In The End' (Linkin Park)

"I make this look easy. That's 'cause it was." 

**Appearance:**

            Ryan's a friendly-looking, outgoing guy, who is easily set apart from the rest of the crowd by his distinctive hairdo, and buck teeth which many say makes him look like…A bunny. He gets violent when it's mentioned, though.

            He's a bit short, and doesn't seem very strong on first sight. However, Ryan has a certain wiry strength underneath his black-and-gold outfit, just like his idol, Bruce Lee. Still, that's the only resemblance this student has to the rather grim, serious actor/ martial artist. 

Ryan's fighting style is extremely flashy, relying on dazzling moves and his innate speed, rather than pure strength. He enjoys taunting his opponents, and proving his clear advantage and superiority over them _before _pounding them into the ground. But if Ryan can't…Well, he just settles for the pounding part. He's not stupid enough to posture unnecessarily.  

            'Quicksilver's' special power is the ability to control the weather. He has a certain affinity with storms, and water in general. Ryan prefers to keep this secret until he actually engages in combat: Fighting someone with fists that crackle with lightning AND kicks that can break the sound barrier is enough to demoralize anyone. Add that to his incredible, almost uncontrolled speed, and you have one hell of a fighter. He takes special care to roll up his sleeves before engaging in combat, a habit from old training days.

            Ryan dressed in a black jacket, with gold accents. This is followed up by a thick undershirt, his only concession to cold weather. He wears a battered watch on his left hand, as well as fingerless gloves whenever he feels like it. There's always a pair of headphones in his pocket, as well as a collection of Linkin Park music. Somehow, he manages to look dashing and charismatic, if not exactly handsome. 

Compared to the others, it's extremely easy to find Ryan. If you don't know where he is, there's a high chance he'll either be found in the nearest bar or gaming centre, sampling the wares, or trying his hand at any new games that're currently out.

Though Ryan's always a really funny guy, you can tell he's getting angry, when he talks less and less, and in an increasingly bland manner. When he's totally quiet…That's when you should start running.

**Bio:**

            Ryan's the guy who brought the DHS team together in the first place, and one of it's most distinctive fighters. It's true that Chan leads them, but it's Ryan who handles most of the personnel problems, and has a more understanding view of the current situation.

            Ryan treated the entire KOF 2000 tournament as a single, massive adventure. He never thought it could serious, till one of his teammates died. Ryan had a close call with death too that year, and probably would've kicked the bucket, if not for the intervention of his remaining friends. 

Since then, Ryan has become more serious and much more careful, when dealing with anything related to NESTS. This isn't to say that he doesn't goof off occasionally: He simply knows when to be serious.

Anyway, he's had a really bad time upon coming home. He'd to explain to his parents exactly HOW he'd gotten so badly injured on a simple field trip to Japan, and WHAT he had been doing in the first place. Needless to say, he had to do some _really _quick thinking.

Fortunately, Ryan's managed to talk his way out of that, even managing to break the news of the tournament to his parents. At first, they were…Angry, to say the least. But when Ryan showed them his now-swollen overseas bank account, they became far more receptive, to the point of allowing him to go again the next year.

Ryan spent the rest of the year trying to find a new member for the team, despite much difficulty. Eventually, he managed to secure the services of a young swordsman known simply as Jiazheng, with a large amount of help from Andro.  

            Once more, he's in for the cash and fame, and not really for any other reason. Sure, he wants to bring NESTS down as badly as Chan does, but it's more of…A side trip than anything else. Ryan just intends to bring serious harm to them, with as little personal risk as possible. He won't push his luck, and will withdraw if and when he is forced to.

**Fighting Style:**

            Yep, that's the word to describe it. Ryan's all about style. Every move he makes, from his triple-somersault kick, to his behind-the-back thunderbolt, is calculated to impress. He's extremely fast, and fairly resilient to injury. Dash in, combo, dash out, and feed the opponent Wave Cannons. If he needs to get close, Ryan has an entire list of dash-ins, from the versatile Electronic Revolution uppercut, to the seldom-used Hiryu-No-Ken flying kick. Even better, most of his Supers can hit at almost any range. He's the most solid character on the DHS Team, and perhaps the most balanced. However, Ryan has bad recovery time on all his moves, and has an easily distinguishable attack pattern. And yes, he does have several projectiles, though they're too slow and weak for any effective chipping damage. Still, his non-projectiles are too good to write off completely, rendering a good character in any case. 

**Striker: Hiryu-No-Ken**

            Ryan jumps in, turns towards the wall, and runs straight up. Then, he lets out a 'KA-TA!!!' and leaps down in a deadly flying kick. It hits with all the force of a Striker Galatica Phantom, complete with earth-shaking 'thud' if it connects. However, it's slow enough to be rolled away from, or blocked.

**Name:** Alistair "Andro" Gill

**Age: **18

**Birthday:** 21 March, 1983

**Favorite food:** Vienna sausages, ramen noodles

**Hobby:** None

**Most Important:** Blades, Jacket

**Dislikes**: Weakness, distractions, hypocrites

**Fighting Style:** 'Single-Edge' Style Advanced/ Streetfighting

**Theme Song:** 'Rock Is Dead' (Matrix Soundtrack)

"Perish."

**Appearance:**

Andro is a slim, whiplash-thin man. His eyes are hidden behind a mirrored visor, and his face is always an impassive mask. He wears bracers of some kind, hinged at the edges for his blades to slide out. This way, he is never truly unarmed, as long as he wears his normal outfit. The weapons he carries are his pride and joy, and are extremely well-maintained. Considering their constant use, it's just as well.

No matter how he looks, Andro is the most savage and twisted of the Awakened students, as they call themselves. He just does a really good job of hiding it in public. 

Normally, Andro wears a black leather biker's jacket, with the mark of the local Hell's Angel's gang on it. It was picked up somewhere on his travels, and is now an important part of Andro's legend. However, he has marked over the sign with the silver kanji letter for 'Shadow', symbolizing the portion of the past that is now behind him.

If anything, Andro's become even tougher since the previous year. Just approaching him can cause a great feeling of unease, as if the world suddenly darkened greatly. Andro always remains calm under pressure, and has a perpetual slightly disinterested, cooler-than-though attitude, that can get on the nerves of others very easily. But if they make a single comment…Well, that's when bad things happen.

**Bio:**

            After the events of 2000, Andro decided not to head back to Singapore with the others, remaining in Japan instead to hone his skills. Chan and Ryan weren't exactly sad to see him leave, though they did make a token protest or two, having an inkling of what their unstable friend was going to do.

Over the new few months, the level of street crime in certain areas dropped rapidly. Many gang members turned up dead in alleyways or gutters, all with their heads neatly removed, and placed to the side. The same went for any cop who got too interested in the matter. 

Things came to a head when two gang leaders were found the same way, along with the rest of their henchmen. Evidently, they had all been stabbed with a bladed weapon coated with a kind of black substance, and left to suffocate. It seems that the murderer had removed their heads _after_ death had arrived, spawning a whole new set of urban legends.

Of course, no one really cared about street punks, so the incidents were largely unnoticed.

Through means unknown, Andro made it back to Singapore somewhere around June, though he hid for three more months, to lose the trail of any pursuers. Later, he contacted Chan, reminding him about the King Of Fighters tournament, and the vow made by the three of them.

However, he didn't appear till much later, turning up at Changi Airport, right before the plane was about to leave. The only other time Andro had returned to the public eye was when he went with Ryan to meet Jiazheng, something which Chan knows nothing about. Further details of his past are shrouded in mystery, which he has not seen fit to disclose.

As befits his role, Andro is always secretive and serious, never joking or laughing much. He isn't cruel, but doesn't go out of his way to help people. The only people he seems to loosen up around is the DHS Team; Even then, it isn't much. He always looks out for himself, but you get the general feeling that he doesn't care all that much about life.

Andro is perhaps the ultimate fighter of the DHS Team. He's a remorseless, cold, killing machine, that doesn't distinguish who falls to his blades. There is a purity of purpose in this, and he has concentrated his entire existence to the perfection of his art.

Compared to Ryan, Chan, and perhaps even Jiazheng, Andro is the most 'normal' of the entire group. He doesn't have many special abilities…Most of his moves are pure physical or mental prowess, even if they don't look like it. Simply put, he does things that any normal man could do, though many would find it much more difficult if they weren't Andro. 

Details about his powers are sketchy. 

Andro is in perfect physical condition, well-built and balanced in every sense of the word. His powers seem to be mainly related to shadows, though there is a suspicion that his great speed and strength are not entirely natural. The most visually impressive attack he has is the Army Of One, which creates an army of duplicates, all of which fight at around the same prowess as his normal self.

But, anything like a Stand or a crackling burst of lightning is straight out. Andro's powers are subtle, and come from deep within himself. He's _really good with those blades, and can easily defeat those more than twice his size. To put it bluntly, Andro's a killing machine, and not really suited for the more casual social occasions. _

**Fighting Style:**

            Two hands, two blades. That's the core of Andro's unique fighting style. He fights like a whirlwind, charging right in, and relying on his speed and weaponry to win each fight. Andro is _the fastest character on the team, eclipsing even Ryan in terms of pure speed. He also has a superior jump, and a much faster recovery than any other member of the team._

            However, Andro isn't perfect. First, though he deals damage at an incredible rate, he also receives it at around the same time. His fights tend to be short and brutal, with a clear winner being declared in an extremely short period of time. Basically, if Andro isn't winning, he's losing.

            Also, he doesn't have much in the way of projectiles. The Shadow Edge is quite powerful, but takes quite some time to be summoned. The thrown knives also don't do that much damage, as compared to something like the Ho'ou Ken or the Second Shell.

            Andro is a finesse fighter, and not for anyone who relies upon cheap finishes to win. He's an expert with his weapons, and can dismember almost anything at close range. His main problem is how to survive till he gets into that range.

**Striker: Bladestorm**

            Andro runs in, and dashes forward like a samurai. If he strikes the opponent, he slashes five times, ending with an nasty full-out spin attack. The most damaging of all DHS Strikers. However, if he misses, he snarls, and begins to walk offscreen, _daring his opponent to hit him. He goes into the combo if he's hit._

**Name:** Jiazheng

**Age: **17

**Birthday:** 19 October, 1984

**Favorite food: **Roti Prata (Indian pancake, eaten with curry.)

**Hobby:**

**Most Important:** His scabbard, practice

**Dislikes**: Sloth, effeminate behavior. 

**Fighting Style:** Bushido/ Kendo…And FURY!!!

**Theme Song:** "Force Your Way" Final Fantasy VIII Soundtrack

"In the endgame, we are _all _expendable."

**Appearance:**

            Jiazheng is a serious-looking young man, dressed in an odd combination of sparring gear and casual clothes. He wears a pair of black Airwalks, with his socks neatly pulled up to somewhere around thigh-level. An odd-looking gauntlet covers his right hand, somewhere between a bracer and a glove. Reality seems slightly distorted around it, as if viewing the world through a slight green haze.

            He wears a brown jacket, with the words "FUGITIVE" written across the back, in silver letters. The shirt underneath has the words, 'You Didn't See Me' in a much smaller font. As you can see, Jiazheng likes this jacket a _lot._ An empty, impossibly ornate scabbard is strapped to Jiazheng's back, held there by a leather strap neatly tied across his chest. Once, it held his sword, though he no longer possesses it now.

            Jiazheng is usually serious, though not as grim as Andro. He knows how to loosen up and have fun, though he prefers to keep to himself, remaining on the job at hand. Somehow, he looks rather naïve, though a closer examination would tell anyone that this wasn't so.

            When angry, green light flickers around Jiazheng's limbs, especially evident around his gloved right hand. He doesn't have the same control the others have about their powers, making him extremely dangerous and unstable when angered, like a primed hand grenade. Thankfully, he's calm and cheerful most of the time, as befits a semi-master swordsman.

            Jiazheng's eyes are constantly on the move, scanning everything and anything for a potential threat. He can get quite nervous and flustered when confronted with a situation out of his experience, shattering his outward calm.

**Bio:**

            Jiazheng, the newest member to the DHS Team, is an ordinary guy in many aspects. He goes to school, eats his greens, learns Bushido like it's a religion…And can shoot green flames from his hands. Okay, not so ordinary.

            Ryan and Andro first met Jiazheng at a take-on-all-comers martial arts meet in Singapore, hosted in an desperate attempt to bring the once-popular fad back to life. The place was basically pathetic, and more of an advertising booth than anything else. 

However, the main highlight of the place was a full-contact weapons match, where several different people were attempting to prove their superiority over one another. Of course, they all summarily got their collective asses kicked by a young man, who just happened to go by the name of 'Jiazheng'.

            After the match ended, Ryan decided to have a little chat with Jiazheng, explaining who he was, and proffering more than a slight interest in the swordsman's skills. He invited Jiazheng to join the team, to replace the missing Ogion. Jiazheng instantly jumped at the chance.

            Andro, however, was not so willing to accept the newcomer. He challenged Jiazheng to a duel, intending to test out his worth. The two fought to a draw, neither able to fully overcome the other. Finally, Andro grudgingly agreed that Jiazheng was in. And that was all.

            As the newest member of the DHS Team, Jiazheng doesn't know everything that happened in the previous year…Especially anything about NESTS. Chan intends to keep it that way, not letting him know more than he needs to. He's already made it to clear to Jiazheng that he's only here to make up the numbers.

            Jiazheng doesn't particularly mind. He's in this for personal prestige and glory, as well a healthy portion of the prize money, to help his family pay the rent. If he knew exactly what was going on behind the scenes, he would probably hop on the next plane home. 

            Due to his classical training, Jiazheng's not really suited to the close-in brawling style favored by the rest of the team. He prefers to fight one-on-one, with a weapon in hand. Currently, he only uses his scabbard, channeling his force through it to release in blasts of emerald light. Also, he can shape this force into various shapes and sizes, though the most common are blades or explosives.

            However, the full extent of Jiazheng's powers are not known. They remain a mystery to all concerned, with only occasional hints to their use. However, from what they've seen, the rest of the DHS Team believes that Jiazheng will need to be much stronger to survive through the conflicts ahead.

**Fighting Strategy:**

            Jiazheng's a basically average fighter, with no outstanding abilities _so far._ Currently, his only advantage over his opponents is the long reach of his weapon, allowing him some measure of protection. The swordsman's speed is about the third slowest, ranking below Ryan, though with a sizable improvement over Chan. His in-close game favors his bare hands, rather than his sword, as there's simply no room to swing close in.

            Also, Jiazheng is slightly tougher than most fighters, and has a mild regenerative ability that allows him to heal wounds at a much faster pace. He's a reliable comrade with good skills, and there's no one better to have on your side when the card comes down. The main advantage of having Jiazheng around is his tremendous courage, and stubborn inability to accept defeat…Except when he's unconscious.  
            Keep in mind that Jiazheng will be evolving as the story unfolds. His abilities now are just a mere fraction of what they _could _be. Of course, he still have to survive until then…

**Striker: Musashi No Shuugeki**

            Jiazheng leaps in, and slashes a green wave of energy forward. If he hits, he charges forward across the screen, swinging his scabbard like a baseball bat. This can juggle the opponent, and set him up for a combo, or simply serve as a good projectile repellant. If he misses, Jiazheng taunts, taking away half a super bar.


End file.
